Children's Hour
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: For the triplets' eighth birthday, Roarke and Leslie reminisce about fantasies they've granted specifically for children.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _I realize it's been quite a while since I put up the last story—still busy working on the first draft of books for (I hope) future attempts at publication. But I'm in a lull between manuscripts at the moment and still trying to get the plot of book 4 off scaffolding; so I thought I'd follow a theme after I got two wonderful story ideas from Kathy G, which I plan to incorporate into this tale. I'll also try to include episodes from the actual series that involved kids in a fairly major way; so this will probably turn out to be a long story. Hope you're all prepared! :)_

* * *

 **§ § § - June 2, 2012**

The Enstads were just sitting down to breakfast in the kitchen when Roarke appeared without warning in the doorway from the entry foyer. The triplets let out shouts of joy and scrambled out of their chairs with much clatter and clamor to cluster around him and try to capture his undivided attention. Three-year-old Anastasia stared on with her mouth open; Christian sat back in his chair and watched with a small, wry smile; and Leslie grinned, playfully rubbing one ear as if it hurt.

"Good morning, you three, and happy birthday to all of you!" Roarke said cheerfully, hugging each of his grandchildren in turn and then meeting Anastasia's slightly startled gaze with a wink. "And hello, little one, how are you?"

Anastasia's gold-flecked blue eyes blinked slowly once, and Leslie prodded, "Say hello to Grandfather, honey. He's here to visit."

"For our birthday!" crowed Susanna. "We're finally eight!"

"Took forever to stop being dumb old seven anymore," Tobias remarked.

Karina had something else in mind. "Grandfather, are you staying for our party?"

"I'll be here all day if you wish," Roarke said. "Perhaps somewhere I may have hidden some presents for the three of you."

Susanna and Tobias bounced on their feet like a couple of springs that had been glued to the floor; Karina turned a hopeful, shining face up to him. "I know what present I want. More stories about when you were in charge and Mother was your helper."

"Now how did I know that would come up?" Christian queried dryly, but his smile warmed and widened. "Perhaps if you'd care to share our breakfast, Mr. Roarke, we can tell at least the first one over the meal so these imps will finish eating, and then we can decorate for the party out back while you and Leslie tell a few more."

"Decorate?" Roarke repeated.

"With balloons and party hats and those little horns you blow like on New Year's Eve, and those long colored papers that you hang on the ceiling," Susanna said, nodding vigorously. "It's gonna be outside, but we can have it under the deck so there's someplace to hang all the paper things."

"The streamers," Leslie clarified. "I don't know if we'll go _that_ far, now."

"But we got some the other day at that new party store in town," Susanna protested. "We should use them, y'know, otherwise it's wasting money."

"So it would be," Christian agreed. "Well thought out. Then I suppose we'll just have to decorate with them. Meantime, Mr. Roarke, while I realize you won't need to eat anything, at the very least you can sit with us and help Leslie entertain the children."

"Not to mention you," added Leslie with a smirk. He just grinned.

Roarke laughed. "Very well, we certainly have the time. Before your parents scold you three again, you'd better sit down and have breakfast. You're right that I won't need to eat, Christian, but I would appreciate some of that coffee if you have any to spare; it's been quite some time since I was able to enjoy a cup."

"Of course," Christian agreed, rising to prepare a mugful. "So tell me, what sort of stories will you regale us with today?"

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; she shrugged, and he smiled, as if that were her signal to leave the choices up to him. "Well, considering that it's the triplets' birthday, perhaps we can tell stories regarding children's fantasies," he suggested.

"You used to grant fantasies to kids?" Tobias asked, eyes popping. "Oh, wow, cool!"

"I wish we could have some for our birthday," Susanna put in, sounding jealous.

"Ach, fate save us, I think you and your brother and sister will receive more than enough gifts today without demanding your own fantasy atop that," Christian commented. "My suggestion is that you be happy your grandfather is able to spend the whole day here for your birthday, and let him tell you those stories you want, and stop asking for more and more."

"Yeah, Greedy-Guts," Tobias said to Susanna, who stuck out her tongue at him.

Leslie looked up in surprise. "Where'd you learn that phrase?"

Tobias shrugged and said, "Some kid in my class. He's at the Air Force base on Coral Island, and he calls his older brother that all the time. Anyway, Mom, that's what Susanna's being, a greedy-guts. Just 'cause it's our birthday doesn't mean we get everything in the world."

"What kind of kids' fantasies did you have?" Karina put in, apparently impatient to get story time under way. "Were they fun, or dangerous, or what?"

"Both, and more," Roarke assured her. "Leslie, what stands out in your mind?"

She chuckled and said, "I'm sure we'll be able to mine my first summer on the island without any trouble at all. That," she added for her husband's benefit, "was the summer Father and Tattoo tried granting children's fantasies alongside adults'. It lasted only a couple months or so because it doubled our workload every weekend, but we had a really good time." She gestured at the children. "Come on, finish your breakfast before everything gets cold. You too, Stasia."

The kids began to eat, though Anastasia did it mostly in imitation of her older siblings. Christian put a mug of coffee in front of Roarke and resumed his chair. "Sounds like you had a busy few weeks. I'm sure there must have been plenty of fairytale reenactments for little girls, and young boys asking to be daredevils or athletes or some such thing."

"We had a few of those, but not nearly as many as you think," Roarke said with a smile. "Some of the fantasies were surprises."

"That's for sure," Leslie agreed. "Like the weekend some kids wanted to run the amusement park, and a family group was trying to form a famous rock band. Do you want to start, Father, or should I?"

"Who cares who starts?" Karina blurted, her impatience finally bursting its restraints. "Just tell us about it, _please!"_

The adults laughed, and Roarke gestured to Leslie. "By all means, my child."

 **§ § § - May 12, 1979**

Leslie, just turned fourteen as of a week before, had been waiting at the top of the porch steps while Roarke went to fetch a rover; as soon as it emerged around the bend in the lane, she hurried out to meet it and slid into the front seat. "Where's Tattoo?"

"I thought he would be with you," Roarke said, removing his gold pocket watch from his vest and flicking open the cover to check the time. "Didn't he say that—" He was interrupted by the high-pitched blaring of a horn, and both of them looked around. Sure enough, a child-size car—a perfect small-scale replica of the resort's rovers—careened out of the trees, scattering shrieking natives before its driver skidded to a dusty stop just shy of the fountain. "Hurry, Tattoo, hurry," Roarke urged.

"Of course, boss," Tattoo agreed, climbing out of the car and pausing beside the driver's side of the car, puffing on a pipe.

"Eh, Tattoo..." Roarke began.

"What?" the Frenchman inquired cheerfully.

Leslie broke in before Roarke could ask. "How come you're dressed like Sherlock Holmes?"

About to answer, Tattoo was interrupted by Roarke, who spoke with one hand upraised as if he had just figured it all out. "You just finished reading the Sherlock Holmes book I gave you, and you've decided to become a master of disguise. Right?"

Tattoo's face had morphed into a mask of astonishment. "How did you know?"

"Duh," muttered Leslie, rolling her eyes.

"Elementary, my dear Tattoo, elementary," put in Roarke, in a nicely executed British accent. "Come, it's time to meet the balloon." Rolling his own eyes, Tattoo rounded the car and slid into the back seat, and they were off to the other side of the island, where a landing pad for a hot-air balloon had been set up on a hilly clearing within sight of the amusement park there. As Roarke piloted the car down the Ring Road, they could see the balloon drifting along, now and then flashing in bright red, white and blue stripes through stands of trees. It took them a little more than twenty minutes to reach their destination; with the balloon drifting on the air currents as it did, it was still some distance out, and they had time to take their usual places and watch the balloon floating toward them.

It took a few minutes, so Leslie was able to watch vacationers' kids running around the brick-paved traffic circle where Roarke had parked the rover, lining up awaiting the day's opening of the amusement park just across from the tree beneath which they all stood, and occasionally trotting past them aboard llamas or vicuñas. A native strolled by them leading a zebra, while a stream of native children scuttled past, lining up not far from the landing pad and raising instruments, awaiting their cue to begin playing their welcoming song. They waved at Leslie, who waved back.

"The balloon's loaded this morning," Leslie remarked, as the basket settled down on the pad and a uniformed attendant, looking like a cruise-ship employee, stepped out, securing the basket door and gesturing toward those nearest the exit.

"Indeed so," Roarke agreed, nodding toward the first group who emerged from the basket. "You are looking at the Collins family: Scooter, Willie, Rob, and their sister Jodie." As the girl climbed out behind her brothers, they heard her chirp, "Thank you, Captain Balloon!"

Leslie grinned. Scooter and Jodie were both younger than she; Rob, the oldest, and Willie looked to be in their mid- to late teens, somewhat older than she was. "Captain Balloon," she repeated with a little giggle. "I guess he does look like a captain in that uniform."

"What's their fantasy, boss? To get away from their parents?" Tattoo asked with a sly grin.

"Oh, far from it, Tattoo; they love their parents very, very much," Roarke said.

"Then what's their fantasy?" Leslie persisted.

"One shared by children all over the world, Leslie. To become instant rock stars."

"They all want to," agreed Tattoo.

Leslie smirked. "Well, not quite all children," she said, and Roarke chuckled.

"Well, okay, maybe not you, but every other kid in the world," Tattoo riposted, nothing daunted. "Do they have any talents?"

"A good question, Tattoo—a very good question indeed!" commented Roarke.

"Which means probably not," Leslie translated, earning a smirk from Tattoo and a quelling look from her guardian in which she nonetheless read traces of doubt. She smirked too, just to herself, and let Roarke distract her attention to the second party disembarking from the balloon.

"Next is the Aces High Magic Club, from San Fernando, California, along with Derrus Scott, and Derrus' aunt, Andrea." Derrus and Andrea were African-American; their companions were Caucasian, and all three kids seemed to be younger than Leslie.

"Magic!" Tattoo echoed. "They're all magicians?"

"To varying degrees, yes," Roarke said. "Derrus himself is quite accomplished, and he enjoys teaching his friends how to entertain others."

"Only three in the club?" Tattoo asked dubiously, his face screwing up as he said it. "That's not a very big club. What's their fantasy, boss?"

"To pull off what Derrus calls their greatest trick ever. This weekend those children are going to run the Fantasy Island Amusement Park, and Derrus hopes to have lots of fun—but as I told you, my friend, Derrus is an accomplished magician; and one can never be certain what a magician has up his sleeve once he has your attention centered where he wants it."

Tattoo nodded, and Leslie peered at her guardian a little warily before turning the same look on Derrus Scott. Of course, all seven children from both groups were too busy enjoying their ice-cream sundaes to take much note of their hosts, and a moment later Leslie was distracted when Roarke's own sundae arrived. "My dear friends," he called, catching everyone's attention, "I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!" The kids toasted him with their sundaes, and Aunt Andrea beamed at Roarke; he took a sip from the straw in his sundae, then removed it and handed the entire glass to a surprised and delighted Leslie, who pulled out the spoon and took a big bite.

"We will meet you at the main house once you have been settled into your bungalows," Roarke informed the new arrivals, "and then we will discuss your individual fantasies. Until then, please follow our guide here." He gestured to a young native man who smiled and nodded to the newcomers, gesturing for them to follow him. Roarke in turn made for the rover, with Tattoo and Leslie trailing, Leslie trying to keep the sundae glass from dripping melting ice cream on her dress.

"You better finish that before we get back home," Tattoo warned her, taking the front seat this time as Roarke slid behind the wheel and Leslie eased into the middle seat beside Tattoo's discarded Sherlock Holmes cape and hat. "You've got maybe twenty minutes."

"I guess it's a good thing I ate only oatmeal for breakfast, then," Leslie remarked, "but I think Mom would've said something about my getting to eat ice cream this early in the day. Especially so much of it." She caught Roarke's eye in the rearview mirror and noticed the twinkle in it; she grinned back, and heard his chuckle as he started the car and got them back on the road.

Leslie finished in enough time to hand the empty glass to Mana'olana when they stepped onto the porch; the cook was just finishing clearing the breakfast table. "And just where did you get that, young lady?" she wanted to know. There was no mistaking what the former contents of the glass had been. "I suppose that's why you wouldn't eat any more than half a bowl of oatmeal. And on top of that, you completely _finished_ that ice cream."

"I had to," Leslie protested. "Mr. Roarke didn't want it."

Mana'olana paused, then shifted her regard to Roarke. "You, sir?"

"Well, I couldn't very well let it all go to waste, now, could I?" countered Roarke.

Looking taken aback, Mana'olana pondered that for a moment, and Roarke visibly stifled a smile. "We'd better get inside, you two," he said, herding Leslie and Tattoo along ahead of him.

"She has a point," Tattoo observed as they entered the study. "Are you gonna give Leslie your leftover ice cream sundae every weekend, boss?"

"You sound jealous," Leslie teased him. "Maybe next weekend he'll let you have it."

"That's enough," Roarke said, but there was a thread of amusement in his voice. "If you need to wash your hands, Leslie, you can do that now."

She did so, and then they returned to the amusement park; it took them long enough to get there that by then all their guests had had time enough to settle in from their trip. But Roarke clearly knew that the amusement park would be a draw too strong for the kids to resist; and sure enough, as he parked and the trio strolled across the hilly clearing overlooking the ocean, they spied four young people exclaiming over the sights. "I told you guys to lay off the junk food," they heard Rob Collins warn his younger siblings as they came within earshot.

"Ah, the Collins family," Roarke greeted them.

"Mr. Roarke—you're just the man we wanted to see," Rob said cheerfully.

"Well, I had expected to see you at the pool," Roarke said.

Rob shrugged. "Oh, we had a couple of things to do first."

"Yeah, like taking a dumb nap," grumbled Scooter.

Tattoo looked perplexed; Leslie grinned, and Roarke filled in the breach. "Uh, well...what may I do for you?"

"Could you tell us when our fantasy's going to begin?" asked Jodie, augmented by a nod from Willie. At that Tattoo smiled.

"Oh, that's easy," he said. "It already has started."

"Uh, what Tattoo means," Roarke put in, "is that you are already rock stars, in certain parts of the world." Leslie peered suspiciously at him. She had been here only about three months, but that had been long enough for her to start picking up on odd nuances and turns of phrase that most of their guests, too excited to bother with details, tended to miss.

"Oh, really?" inquired Rob, as if he'd noticed Leslie's reaction. "Well, what part of the world are we stars in?"

"England," Roarke replied, surprising Leslie, who had expected him to say the Collinses were stars here on the island and maybe in Hawaii as well. "You see, I took the demonstration tape you sent me and had it released as an album. Well, your album shot straight to the top of the British charts."

Scooter grinned smugly and boasted, "See, I told you guys we were good."

"Well, that's terrific," Rob protested, "but we—"

Roarke stopped him with an upraised hand. "I know," he assured the young man. "I know: you want some ironclad proof of your newly found fame, right?"

"Well, it would be nice," Rob admitted.

"Before Mr. Roarke delivers the proof, there is something else you should know," Tattoo told him, his voice a bit grave. _Trouble,_ thought Leslie. _There's always a catch to this stuff._

"Oh, what's that?" Rob asked.

Roarke delivered the answer Leslie had expected from him earlier: "I also released your album here, on Fantasy Island. While we don't have any charts, or Top 40, I can readily assure you that the Collins family have already achieved rock stardom right here." He ushered Tattoo and Leslie aside, allowing the crowds of kids playing with the animals and taking advantage of the ice-cream bar and fountain to see the quartet. That was all it took; every kid in the area began screaming, stampeding for the four siblings in one mad, headlong rush. All four of them looked horrified for a second or two, then broke into two separate factions, fleeing as if for their lives.

"Holy cow," Leslie uttered, watching from beside her amused guardian and Tattoo, whose expression kept switching from wincing sympathy to a tickled grin. "That's some proof." She could see only three running figures; quick deduction told her that they'd caught young Scooter, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the mob dispersed as if to chase after one or two of the other siblings, leaving a dazed Scooter stumbling to remain on his feet, his jacket and bow tie missing altogether and his pale-yellow dress shirt in shreds.

"If this is stardom, forget it," he muttered, just loudly enough for them to hear. One little girl, maybe Scooter's age or slightly older, had remained behind and was eyeing him. "What do you want?"

The girl looked starstruck. "For you to marry me."

"That's crazy," Scooter informed her.

"Why?" the girl persisted.

"Well, for starters, I'm only nine," he retorted, and Leslie snickered behind one hand while Roarke and Tattoo grinned at each other. Scooter rushed off, presumably to replace his shirt, while the girl watched him go, then shrugged resignedly and trudged along the grass in their general direction.

"Did you get your autograph, Jessica?" Roarke asked as she shuffled by.

"Yeah, but I really wanted an engagement ring," Jessica said wistfully.

Leslie grinned and offered, "Well, I dunno, I hear there's a magician on the island this weekend. Maybe he can conjure up one for you."

Jessica lit up like a beacon. "You think so? Where is he? I gotta ask him!" Without waiting for a reply, she took off toward the amusement park.

"Leslie, really," Roarke admonished.

Leslie flipped her hands into the air. "Well, hey...I just didn't want to see such a long face. Anyway, aren't we supposed to talk to Derrus Scott and his magic club?"

"We are at that," Roarke agreed, "so we may as well go and find him."

"And hope Jessica doesn't," put in Tattoo, at which Leslie snickered cheerfully, trailing the two along the clearing and across the brick-paved traffic circle to the waiting rover.

Back on their own side of the island, in front of the main house, they came upon Derrus, already performing a show for a crowd of impressed kids; they lingered long enough to watch him execute three tricks before producing a bouquet that exploded all over the three of them in showers of red, white and blue confetti. "Roses!" Derrus exclaimed expansively. "Roses, to thank you for our fantasy of running an amusement park."

Roarke and Tattoo both smiled gamely; Leslie, shaking confetti out of her hair, would have commented that she'd have preferred the actual flowers if Derrus' aunt Andrea hadn't broken through the fringes of her nephew's audience and hurried to his side. "Excuse me...Derrus, how could you?" she cried, stopping in front of them and brushing red and blue bits of paper from Roarke's shoulders. "Oh, I want to apologize for my nephew tossing confetti all over you." She brushed off Tattoo's shoulder as well, then shook some stray bits from Leslie's hair before turning on the startled boy. "I'm so embarrassed!"

"Well, it wasn't all confetti," Derrus protested weakly. "There were roses. Not real roses," he added apologetically to Leslie, as if he'd read her mind. "I couldn't afford real ones." He bent down and scooped up a folded and shaped piece of red paper. "I cut them out of magazines. See? They're really roses!"

He was so earnest and worried that Leslie forgave him. "That's okay, Derrus," she assured him with a smile that seemed to relax him. "You did a great job."

"There is really nothing to apologize for," Roarke added with a warm smile. "Now, enjoy yourself, Derrus." Derrus shot his aunt a split-second glance, tossed the spent bouquet onto the nearby table and took advantage of Roarke's invitation, strolling over to a group of kids sitting around the end of a long thin bar where more ice-cream sundaes were being concocted and served. "Hey, guys, I got a great trick for you. Can I have a volunteer?..."

Andrea turned to her hosts then and said sternly, "I'm afraid you gentlemen are being much too lenient with him." She left out Leslie, as if figuring a teenage girl wouldn't know any better anyway—or at least, that was Leslie's slightly disgruntled thought.

"It was just confetti," she protested in surprise, shaking her head to dislodge the last of it.

"And he seems to be such a nice boy," Tattoo added with an encouraging smile.

Andrea seemed to relent and smiled back. "Being nice isn't the problem with Derrus." She addressed Roarke. "You—you saw the way he was acting today. He's like that all the time! He lives in a world all his own, a world of magic." Sure enough, by now Derrus was playing to a crowd of around twenty kids—the consummate showman already, at no more than about ten years old. "I keep hoping he'll outgrow it, but I guess it's hard for—well, his mother, my sister...she died five years ago."

Leslie winced, apparently audibly, for Andrea turned to her curiously. "I'm sorry about that," Leslie offered softly. "I'm here for the same reason."

"I see," murmured Andrea. "I'm sorry too."

"My ward, Leslie," Roarke introduced the girl. "She's fourteen." Andrea smiled and shook Leslie's hand.

"But...does he have a father?" Tattoo ventured, refocusing their attention.

Andrea scoffed, "Oh, yeah, he has a father all right. But he hardly ever sees Derrus. Too embarrassed, I guess—he's a third-rate carnival stuntman, who spends what little money he makes on his precious motorcycle and flashy leather outfits." Her derisive scorn seemed to permeate the air; she saw the concerned look on Roarke's face and muttered, "Then he's laid up in the hospital half the time." She looked away in disgust, folding her arms over her chest.

Roarke let a beat or two elapse, then prodded, "But he does communicate with the boy, doesn't he?"

Andrea flared up again. "Certainly! Postcards, letters...never doubting he's gonna make the big time! Derrus' father is a thirty-five-year-old boy who never grew up—and he never will." She sighed, looking away again. "And that poor child has to pay the price."

As she shook her head to herself, Derrus turned around, caught Roarke's eye, and winked—and to Leslie's startlement, Roarke winked right back, smiling secretively. _Aha!_ she thought. _Another_ _magician with something up his sleeve!_ She eyed her guardian with a new resolve to start asking some serious questions, the first chance she got.


	2. Chapter 2

**§ § § - May 12, 1979**

Shortly before lunch, Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie piled into a rover along with Derrus and the other two members of his magic club, Kevin and Monica, for the trip to the amusement park on the other side of the island. They had left Aunt Andrea behind, catching up on a little sleep after the long ride on the balloon, so there was an opportunity for Derrus to ask Leslie some questions. "My aunt said you lost your mom too," he said quizzically.

"Yeah, just last September," she said, swallowing. "My whole family actually. In a house fire."

"Oooh," murmured the other children with sympathy, and little Monica patted her arm.

"Well, maybe you could stay and help us with the park," Kevin offered, tossing Derrus a quick glance. "I mean, you live here and all that, right?"

"Hey, this is _our_ fantasy," protested Derrus. "Mr. Roarke promised us _we_ could run the park. And we don't need any help doing it, right, Mr. Roarke?"

"But we might," Kevin persisted.

"No," Derrus shot back in a loud, strident voice, then met Leslie's gaze and shrugged sheepishly at her, offering a lopsided smile. "No offense, Leslie."

"None taken," Leslie assured him. "You're right—it _is_ your fantasy. If you do think you need any help, you could always ask, of course, but I guess that'd kind of ruin the whole thing."

"You bet it would," Derrus agreed and then grinned again. "Sorry."

Leslie, whose questions to Roarke had had to wait, geared up to ask Derrus about the secret he seemed to be sharing with her guardian; but Tattoo introduced another subject before she had a chance to say anything, destroying the opportunity. She gave up, sat back and listened to the conversation, making the occasional contribution, till eventually they pulled in at the amusement park. It was situated beside a tiny inlet leading toward the beach a short distance away; nearby was a small cluster of ten or twelve buildings, painted in various cheery colors, which had been built as housing for the park employees and their families. Nearly everyone who worked at the park was an island resident, although there were a few who had family members stationed at nearby Coral Island Air Force Base. The park rides were already in motion, they saw as Roarke pulled up alongside the fence demarcating the perimeter and parked the car.

Everyone stepped out, and Kevin exclaimed, "Wow- _wee!_ I sure hope it doesn't rain!" The sky was overcast, but it didn't look as if it would rain anytime soon.

Derrus seemed oblivious. "Wow, this is terrific!"

"Are we really gonna be in charge?" Kevin wanted to know.

"Of course. That was your fantasy, wasn't it?" he added, turning to Derrus. "Just as Leslie told you on our way here?"

"Yes," Derrus said with a firm nod.

Tattoo held out a small red object. "You better pin this on," he said, handing it to Derrus; it was a small red nametag engraved with the legend, _Fantasy Island Amusement Park, Assistant Manager, Derrus._ The boy accepted it as he presented one each to Kevin and Monica.

"What're they for?" Monica wanted to know, shoving back the Angels ballcap she had never taken off her head since arriving on the island.

"The badges say ' _assistant_ manager'," Roarke said. "Now the rule is, only the manager can override an order given by the assistant manager, you understand?"

"Who's the manager?" Kevin asked.

"You're looking at him," Leslie replied with a grin.

"Who else?" Tattoo added, gesturing to Roarke.

Roarke smiled, almost self-deprecatingly, then cleared his throat slightly and advised, "Well, you'd better get acquainted with the park, my friends. As you can see, they are checking the equipment now, and we will open your gates and admit your first customers..." He checked his gold watch. "...in half an hour. All right?"

"Yeah! Come on, let's go!" the kids all shouted, and with that they took off for the employee gate without once looking back—except for Derrus, who paused long enough to flash Roarke an A-OK sign, at which Roarke nodded and smiled, before taking off after his friends. "Hey, wait for me!"

Roarke watched till they were out of sight, then turned toward the car. "Time for us to get back to our side of the island. We have lunch to eat, and there'll be some paperwork and mail to handle."

"Mail," Leslie mumbled, then peered hopefully at her guardian. "I'll start on it the second lunch is over, Mr. Roarke, if you'll tell us what the big secret is that you've got with Derrus."

Roarke responded with a look of blank surprise. "Secret? What secret is that?"

Leslie let her hands drop and made a disgusted noise, cocking her head at him. "Oh, come on, Mr. Roarke, I saw you! You just now nodded at Derrus, like you were confirming something. And earlier, when we were talking to his aunt, when she wasn't looking, he winked at you and you winked right back. Don't tell me I didn't see that. I _know_ something's going on. What is it?"

"I saw it too, boss," Tattoo added, looking expectant.

Roarke took in their expressions, then favored them both with a faintly smug look and replied briskly, "That is for me to know and for you two to find out later. Let's go, we don't have time to stand here discussing it all day." He made for the driver's seat, and Leslie and Tattoo exchanged exasperated looks before following him lest they get left behind.

‡ ‡ ‡

Feeling a little better after lunch, and knowing perfectly well she and Tattoo would get the story of Derrus Scott's secret out of Roarke sooner or later, Leslie agreed without fuss when Roarke told her and Tattoo that they needed to meet the Collins kids at the supper club. George, the manager, wasn't due in till about four that afternoon, so the venue was quiet when they walked in, although visually it was rather loud. There were glittering silver curtains and sparkling black-and-silver medallions the circumference of Leslie's height scattered around the room. The tables were all draped with pink cloths and had white-lacquered chairs placed upside-down atop them; and the stage curtains were pulled back awaiting a performance. Roarke was still assessing the décor, nodding with approval, when the Collins kids burst in, calling out greetings. "Welcome!" Roarke replied expansively.

"Are you enjoying your fame?" Tattoo asked.

"Yeah," Willie said with a grin, and Rob added, "So far it's been terrific! But, uh, I have one question." He shot a glance around the room and lowered his voice, as if afraid there were other people lurking out of sight who might overhear. "How can we make a lot of money in a big hurry?"

"As a matter of fact...ever hear of Brian Lipscomb?" Roarke inquired.

The two older boys exchanged shocked glances. _"Hear_ of him!" blurted Willie. "He's only the number one record and concert promoter in the entire world!"

"Absolutely right, Willie. Precisely why I have invited the esteemed Mr. Lipscomb to hear you in concert tomorrow." The Collins kids' faces had been lighting up as he spoke. "I promised that you'd put on a concert just for him."

"All right!" exulted Rob, while his siblings gasped and beamed.

Tattoo added, "And if Brian Lipscomb likes you, well...the sky is the limit!"

"Wow," Scooter exclaimed.

 _"Double_ wow!" cried Jodie.

Rob put a hand in front of them as if restraining them from running right to the stage. "Uh, hold on. Um...Mr. Roarke, can we, um...hear this hit album of ours?"

"I wouldn't mind hearing it myself," Leslie put in at that point. "I mean—if they're supposed to be famous all over the island, I'd have thought my friends would've said something, but..." She shrugged. "Anyway, I'm wondering if it's pop or rock or disco, or what."

"So are we," commented Willie, who had been watching her. He smiled when she looked at him, and she smiled back, then dropped her head, her face heating. Tattoo grinned as if to himself.

"Oh, of course," Roarke agreed. "But will you do me a favor?"

"Sure," Rob said quizzically.

"Could you play along with it?" Roarke requested.

"Oh, we'd love to," Rob said, and with that the kids headed for the stage. Leslie began to get the feeling that something was up, and peered at Roarke, whose attention was on the Collins kids. She frowned and watched them flocking onto the stage, where drums and keyboard units had been set up and a couple of guitars lay on the floor waiting to be strummed. Jodie sat at the drum set; Scooter slipped behind the keyboard console, and Rob and Willie slung the guitar straps over their heads, while Roarke turned to Leslie, gesturing to a nearby turntable.

"Leslie, suppose you do the honors?" he offered.

"Oh, okay," she agreed, removing a record from an album sleeve and carefully setting it onto the turntable. Meanwhile the Collins children set about playing an upbeat pop tune; Willie took lead vocals, surprising Leslie, who for some reason had assumed Rob, as the oldest, would do that.

Roarke tapped her shoulder and gestured at the turntable, and she realized then what she needed to do. She set it in motion, then lifted the needle and put it in place a couple of grooves in, on the first track. Ever after, she would wonder whether somehow Roarke had guided her hand, for the song on the album picked up at exactly the spot in the live performance to enhance the sound—and what an enhancement it was at that. Leslie's eyes widened; even the Collins kids looked stunned, ceasing their playing in their astonishment at the full, booming sound bursting from the speakers.

They mimed to the record for a few seconds, but Leslie could see their confusion, and finally Rob yelled, "Wait a minute—hold it!" Hastily Leslie lifted the needle from the record, and the club fell silent again.

"Something wrong?" inquired Roarke. "You seem to be suffering from mixed emotions."

"More like disillusionment if you ask me," Leslie murmured.

Tattoo overheard and gave her a faint frown before turning back to the Collins kids and asking, "Don't you like your hit album?"

"Oh, it's terrific, but it's not us," Rob protested.

"Right," Willie seconded.

"Oh, but it is," Tattoo contradicted brightly. "It is."

"Tattoo is quite correct," Roarke explained. "You see, I took the liberty of having your demonstration tape electronically enhanced before the recording was made." Leslie saw Jodie and Scooter exchange disbelieving looks over their instruments.

"Well, yeah, but how're we gonna match that sound for Mr. Lipscomb tomorrow night?" Rob demanded skeptically.

"With fame and fortune within such easy grasp?" returned Roarke. "I'm certain you'll think of something. Tattoo...Leslie." He turned and started out, and automatically Tattoo followed; Leslie hesitated, lifting the record off the turntable and checking the label before replacing it and starting belatedly out in their wake.

"Hey, Leslie," Willie called after her then, and she stopped as if she had unexpectedly been yanked to a halt by the end of a tether. "Is he serious? He's just gonna _leave_ us like this?"

Face flaming, she turned around and hunched her shoulders. "Well...yeah," she mumbled.

Rob and Willie looked at each other. From behind the drums Jodie yelled indignantly, "Well, if he doesn't have any ideas, what about you?"

"Yeah!" Scooter shot out, glaring.

Trapped, Leslie hovered there, eyes darting from one face to another; then she offered weakly, "Lots of rehearsals?"

"Leslie, where are you?" Tattoo's voice called out just then.

"I have to go," she blurted at triple speed, and wasted no time racing out of the room, her relief making her lightheaded. She all but slammed the door of the supper club behind her and threw herself into the rover's middle seat, blowing right past Tattoo and Roarke as she did so.

"Well, young lady," Roarke said with mild surprise, seating himself behind the wheel while Tattoo clambered into the front passenger seat. "May I ask what that was all about?"

"I'd rather you didn't," Leslie told him, her tone more pleading than anything else.

Roarke studied her in the rearview mirror, and Tattoo twisted around in the front seat. "What'd you tell those Collins kids?" he wanted to know.

"Nothing," she insisted. "I mean, there wasn't anything I _could_ tell them. I'm no musician."

"Well, you were there long enough, you must've told them _some_ thing," Tattoo pressed.

"I said they should rehearse a lot," Leslie muttered, glaring at him from under her bangs. "Is that all right with you?"

Tattoo laughed; Roarke chuckled and started the car. "Quite good advice, actually," Roarke said, sending the vehicle forward. "Well done, my child." Leslie managed a smile, but even with the praise, it took her several minutes to overcome her embarrassment.

Roarke dropped off Tattoo near the swimming pool, asking him to make a check on Andrea, then pointed the car west on the Ring Road. "Where are we going now?" Leslie asked.

"You, my dear Leslie, are about to find out about the secret you insist I have with Master Derrus Scott," he told her, setting off toward the amusement park. She sat up straight, eager to get in on it before Tattoo did; and when, twenty minutes later, he pulled up behind a nondescript white building that needed some touch-up painting, she nearly asked him a question before they came around the front and she saw a large, colorful sign mounted above the entrance. It depicted a man on a motorcycle and proclaimed _The Great Scott._ Leslie frowned. _Scott? No way..._ she began.

The thought blew away as Roarke strode into what turned out to be a storage shed; there were tool chests, oversized white marching drums with red trimmings, a life-sized jack-in-the-box, a funhouse mirror, and a green Kawasaki motorbike toward the back, with a man in a white jumpsuit crouched beside it, tinkering with something. "Good afternoon," Roarke called out, approaching him with Leslie behind him.

The man peered over his shoulder and stood up. "Good afternoon," he replied.

"You must be the Great Scott," Roarke said.

"And you must be Mr. Roarke," the man said, beaming and shaking hands.

"That's right, and this is my ward, Leslie Hamilton." He gestured to Leslie, who took her turn shaking hands.

"Nice to meet you, Leslie. Thank you for coming," Scott said to Roarke.

"Oh, not at all, not at all," Roarke demurred, smiling.

"Listen, I keep having to pinch myself; I can't believe this is really happening," Scott noted, still beaming as if he'd won the lottery. "I mean, after all these years..."

"Yes," Roarke mused genially, glancing over the motorcycle.

There was a pause and Scott's smile dropped, then he said in a somewhat apologetic tone, "Uh, I've got a confession to make." At Roarke's gentle prompting, he began, "Much of my career—well, most of it—has been motorcycle stunts and cheap touring carnivals with ramshackle equipment and unsafe conditions. But this time, it's gonna be different. I mean, a two-hundred-and-twenty-five-foot leap, over a lagoon!" He grinned with anticipation, circling his bike and sweeping his eyes across it with pride. "And when I make it—" he raised his eyes to Roarke's— "I may finally get a shot at the big time. A big tour."

Roarke smiled expansively and remarked, "Oh, that's more than a possibility, Mr. Scott. It just so happens that there is a convention of sports journalists and bookers for major entertainment parks on the island now." He seemed unaware of Leslie's astonished stare. "They will all be present for your performance."

Scott's faee shone like a full moon. "It's just like a dream come true!"

Chuckling, Roarke nodded. "Yes...yes." He let a beat or two elapse for a moment; Leslie actually drew in a breath, on the verge of revealing to Scott that his son was also on the island; but Roarke spoke before she could. "Uh...there is something _I_ must confess, Mr. Scott. You see, motorcycle stunts are not Fantasy Island's standard brand of entertainment...you understand. So, uh, um..." He seemed to hesitate, and once more Leslie was on the edge of blurting out her words; again her guardian pre-empted her. "Well, what I'm trying to say is, I am not the one who hired you."

Confused, Scott questioned, "Well, uh, then who?"

"That, I am not at liberty to tell, I'm sorry. The party wishes to remain anonymous, at least for the time being." Roarke used Scott's perplexed preoccupation to shoot Leslie a sharp look that made her seal her lips together and compress them hard.

"Well," Scott said, "whoever that person is, when I do this stunt tomorrow, I won't let 'em down, I can promise you that."

Roarke eyed him with concern. "Not too dangerous a stunt, I hope, Mr. Scott."

"Well, they're all dangerous, Mr. Roarke. But if I can make a spectacular appearance at this park tomorrow, it could be the greatest thing that ever happened to me."

"For your sake, Mr. Scott, I hope it all works out," Roarke said, his voice solemn, but a hint of an encouraging smile on his features all the same. Scott thanked him; they wished each other a good afternoon once more, and then Roarke gestured at Leslie to head for the door. She followed him out, casting enough of a glance back to Scott to see him circle his bike again, with a pronounced limp that she had somehow missed the first time around. Scott waved at her, and she gave him a quick wave back before hurrying out the door in her guardian's wake.

As soon as she left, Roarke closed the door after her, then broke into a smile as he moved beyond the building. Derrus Scott emerged from the side, a hopeful light in his eyes, and Roarke leaned down to speak confidentially to him. "Your father looks fine. He's very excited—thinks this is going to be his big break."

Derrus gazed at Roarke, his entire face radiating gratitude. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke, for the best fantasy you've ever given anyone." He stuck out his hand to shake; Roarke did him one better, reaching out and pulling him into a hug, Leslie smiled, watching, giving Derrus the handshake he had offered Roarke; then Derrus pulled back and said, "I gotta get to work." Roarke nodded, and he rushed off, his steps lighter somehow.

"He's a great kid," Leslie opined softly. "I sure hope he isn't disappointed."

Roarke smiled and smoothed back her hair. "I as well, my child. I as well." He cast a thoughtful glance at the storage shed, then drew himself up straight and got into the car. Leslie scuttled around the front and slid into the passenger seat.

"Two hundred and twenty-five feet," she murmured. "That's not exactly Evel Knievel stuff."

"It need not be to endanger Mr. Scott's life," Roarke said gravely, and she nodded, letting the silence take over. She found herself wondering what Derrus' mother must have been like.

"Hey, by the way, Mr. Roarke," she remembered suddenly when they were still a few minutes from the main house. "You told Mr. Scott that there just happen to be entertainment bookers and stuff like that here this weekend. You're sure that's just a coincidence?"

Roarke simply smiled and reminded her, "This is Fantasy Island, Leslie." She shrugged and gave up, thinking with wry resignation that it looked as if she had far more to learn about her guardian's business than she'd ever dreamed, missing Roarke's secret grin.

‡ ‡ ‡

It was a little past eight-thirty and all the fantasies had been checked on; Leslie sat in her usual spot beside Roarke's desk, trying to stifle her yawns in an attempt to finish a chapter in a school library book before her guardian made her retire for the night. For the moment Roarke was preoccupied, examining some small metal object through a magnifying glass. Leslie shifted on the chair and forced her eyes to focus, going back to the top of the paragraph and rereading with a faint scowl of annoyance at herself.

Suddenly there were two thumps up in the inner foyer, as of a shoe hitting the floor; Roarke did a slight double-take, looking up from the magnifying glass, and Leslie started a little, her head snapping up. Her sleepiness fled at the sight of Tattoo standing at the top of the steps into the study, dressed in blue pants, black coat and knit hat, and black shoes, with a patch over his right eye. He had a severe case of five-o'clock shadow and wore a faintly threatening look on his round face. He raised his right hand, at the end of which was a large black metal hook. Staring intently at Roarke the whole time, he stepped deliberately into the room and across the floor, without sparing Leslie a glance. She shot a quick one at Roarke, just in time to see him cast an exasperated look at the ceiling before resting his arms on the desktop.

He and Leslie both watched Tattoo stop at the corner of the desk right in front of Leslie; then he raised the hook and pounded on the desktop with it a couple of times before leaning against the desk and grunting, "Guess who."

Leslie had an answer on the tip of her tongue, but she waited for Roarke's reaction. He squinted at Tattoo, leaning forward slightly, then complimented, "The disguise is truly a work of art."

"Hm," grunted Tattoo, his expression menacing.

"Ordinarily, I would be tempted to say that you are...Tattoo," Roarke began, and for a moment Tattoo's mouth quirked with disgusted disappointment. "But then," Roarke went on, "I...I can't be positive. Leslie, what do you think?"

Leslie had caught on to what he was doing, and said with conviction, "There's no way that's Tattoo. I mean, it couldn't be anybody else but Captain Hook."

Tattoo cackled delightedly and pushed the patch off his eye. "It's me, you two," he chortled. "I'm getting better and better, am I not?"

"Oh, indeed you are—pretty soon I won't recognize you at all!" Roarke told him. "Right, Leslie?"

"Yeah, that one's the best one yet," Leslie agreed. "You sure had me fooled."

"You see that hand?" Tattoo asked, raising the one in question. "It's a hook!" As he said this, he swept his arm to one side—and caught the red-shaded, double-bulbed lamp sitting on the corner of the desk, sending it sailing off and crashing to the floor, where the shade shattered. Leslie gasped and yanked her feet up off the floor in reflex; Roarke flinched and closed his eyes. For a few seconds the only sound in the room was that of a rounded chunk of the shade that hadn't made it to the floor, rocking back and forth on the desktop. Roarke slowly relaxed and glared at a horrified Tattoo.

"Your antique lamp," Tattoo blurted, aghast. "I'm s-sorry, boss!"

Roarke spoke with careful control and a strained little smile. "May I make a suggestion as to your next disguise, Tattoo?"

Both Tattoo and Leslie looked at him, and Tattoo exclaimed frantically, "Oh sure, boss—who do you want me to be?"

"How about the Invisible Man?" Roarke offered pointedly.

Tattoo blinked, then turned away, shamefaced, and shuffled toward the foyer, head down. Just as he opened the door to leave, Mana'olana and the chief housekeeper, Mariki, popped into the inner foyer from the kitchen. "Miss Leslie, what on earth have you done?" Mana'olana scolded.

"I didn't do that!" Leslie cried in protest, while Tattoo slipped furtively out the door.

Roarke saw him go and rolled his eyes again. "It wasn't Leslie, it was Tattoo," he said. "It's all right, no one was hurt." Mana'olana murmured an apology to Leslie and retreated, while Mariki went after a broom and dustpan.

"The nerve of her," Leslie complained in disbelief. "I mean, I know I'm a klutz and all, but that wasn't my fault!"

Roarke chuckled. "I know, I know." He sighed and let his gaze return to the door. "I truly don't know whether I want to see Tattoo's next attempt at a disguise or not." She laughed and picked up her book as Mariki returned with the broom. "For now," Roarke went on, "I hope he can change his clothes in time to play MC for the Collins concert tonight. I realize you're tired, Leslie, but perhaps you'd like to go to the supper club and see the concert. Your friends might be there."

"Isn't this your antique lamp, Mr. Roarke?" Mariki asked, looking a bit shocked, pausing to stare down at the remains of the shade.

"It was," Roarke said dryly and gestured at her to start her sweeping. "Leslie and I are going out for a while. Would you be willing to stay a while if Mana'olana leaves early, as she planned to do?"

"I'll be fine, Mr. Roarke," Mariki said with a nod, wielding her broom. "Kono can handle the Piranha Pack for another couple of hours."

"Good, thank you," said Roarke and arose. "Come along then, Leslie."

"The Piranha Pack?" Leslie repeated, trailing Roarke out the open French shutters behind the desk. "What's that?"

"Her children," said Roarke and smiled at Leslie. "She has ten."

 _"Ten?_ Whoa..." Leslie breathed, shaking her head. "Good luck to her."

Roarke chuckled and guided her along the dark trail with a hand between her shoulder blades; after about ten minutes' walk, they arrived at the supper club and paused in the back of the room. It was full of children, with a number of adult couples sitting unobtrusively at tables around the edges of the room. The stage was quiet, though the instruments remained where they had been earlier that day, and there was a sign on an easel that announced the Collins children's concert. A dance floor to the right of the stage was full of kids dancing to some electronic disco tune; some of them, Leslie saw, were teenagers, and she thought she recognized her friend Myeko jittering away up there.

On the stage, Tattoo—looking as if he'd never changed from his usual white suit, which he was now clad in—emerged from the curtain and made a slashing motion toward the person behind the turntable Leslie had operated earlier; the music stopped, and Tattoo announced, "Everybody sit down. Be quiet...be quiet, please, be quiet." The kids on the dance floor dropped into sitting positions, and Leslie leaned against the wall beside the steps that led back toward the entrance, seeing that all the tables were full. Tattoo went on: "Introducing Europe's hottest rock stars—the Collins kids!" He delivered this with a loud, excited flourish, and was greeted with rousing cheers and enthusiastic applause. Yielding the stage to the Collins siblings, he disappeared, and Roarke and Leslie both settled onto the steps to watch the show in at least some comfort.

The Collins children were all dressed identically in navy-blue sleeveless, V-neck jumpsuits over turquoise shirts; at the V-neck there was shiny silver trim. Jodie's drumset perched atop a huge raised platform fronted with a flashing sign bearing the name COLLINS in two-foot-high letters. Rob counted the downbeat, and the song promptly kicked in—but Leslie sat up straight with disbelief, for she immediately recognized the quality of the music. It was the record Roarke had asked the group to play along with that afternoon. She tossed her guardian a questioning look; Roarke only raised his eyebrows and returned his attention to the show.

Roarke urged Leslie to her feet just as the kids broke into wild applause and bubbles started floating around the stage from some unseen source. Leslie surveyed the audience; there were about an equal number of native island kids and visiting guests' offspring, but they all seemed thrilled by the concert. She noticed Rob sidle over to Willie and say something to him, and watched Willie respond; unable to read lips, she sighed and picked out Myeko rocking back and forth to the music from her seated position on the dance floor.

Roarke nodded to the Collins siblings, then nudged Leslie and started for the back of the club. Leslie fell in behind him, with a sneaking feeling she knew where he was headed; sure enough, he circled around the room, led her through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, and crossed the room to a scarlet curtain which he whipped abruptly aside. It revealed a small room containing a turntable and a rat's nest of wiring. At the turntable stood Tattoo, his back to them; he whipped around when the curtains shot open, and blinked. "Oh, hi, boss..."

"How much are you being paid to play their album while they lip-synch to it?" Roarke asked point-blank.

"Oh, boss! You don't think I would take money from kids, do you?" Tattoo complained, as if highly offended.

"How much?" Roarke repeated patiently.

Tattoo caved in, eyeing Roarke warily, and said, "Ten bucks."

Leslie only half managed to control a grin; as it was, she caught her lower lip between her teeth in the middle of her smile. Roarke, looking aghast, started to speak, but then Tattoo put in, "Excuse me, boss, but it's time for their next number." He started to turn around while Roarke geared up to give him what-for, but then hesitated and added, "By the way, I've got a phone message for you. It said that somebody very important was waiting for you at the house."

Thoroughly exasperated by now, Roarke scoffed in disgust, "Ten bucks!" He let his hand fall to his side with a slap, then turned and stalked out of the room. Tattoo peered after him, then eyed Leslie, who quirked her mouth to one side and rolled her eyes eloquently.

"Well, say it," Tattoo prompted with a weary, resigned sigh.

Scowling at him, she retorted acidly, "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain." With that she stuck out her tongue at him—a little miffed yet at his sneaking out to let Mana'olana blame her for breaking the lamp—and strode out after Roarke. From the corner of her eye she noticed Tattoo raise a folded bill to his lips and kiss it before turning back to the record, and snorted loudly, letting the door slam behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**§ § § - May 12, 1979**

"The law is the law, Mr. Roarke. Those children are runaways, and they must be returned to their foster homes." The stern, humorless-looking woman standing in the study slapped a paper into Roarke's hand, regarding him with an expression that suggested to Leslie that she would just as soon arrest him for harboring runaways as give him the benefit of any doubt. It was clear enough to Leslie that she was very straitlaced and no-nonsense, with her pumpkin-colored jacket and skirt, cream satin blouse, large-lensed glasses and pale hair that took on a rather unflattering ivory tone in the low, warm lighting of Roarke's study.

"My dear Ms. Ridges," Roarke said through a slight chuckle, unfolding the page she had given him, "there is what is called the letter of the law—"  
"I know, yes, yes, yes, yes...and that which is called the spirit of the law," Ms. Ridges broke in, her voice low and pleasant enough, but condescending.

"Precisely," Roarke said with a cordial nod and smile.

"As social worker in charge of those children," she said coldly, "it is my duty to observe the letter of the law."

Roarke eyed her with a hint of sham sorrow in his dark eyes. "Oh, that is such a shame."

She blinked. "What's a shame?"

"That you insist on dealing with the letter of the law," said Roarke. "You see, I happen to be the law on Fantasy Island, and the letter of my law stipulates that you have absolutely no jurisdiction here. In short, Ms. Ridges, the children will remain on Fantasy Island until I say otherwise." Leslie, standing at the foot of the steps to the second floor, silently cheered. _Go, Mr. Roarke!_

Ms. Ridges, of course, was outraged. "I will have you know, Mr. Roarke," she announced in freezing tones, "that I am here to ensure that those children are returned to their foster homes. And I am the type of person who gets the job done!"

Roarke merely smiled a little and nodded his head a few times. "I wish you luck, Ms. Ridges," was all he said, and pressed the paper back into her hand, stepping past her. It was a clear dismissal, and she let out a small huff before striding out of the study.

Roarke watched her go, waiting till they both heard the outer door snap shut with a loud click before speaking. "A determined lady indeed."

"Foster homes?" Leslie asked, free at last to release the question she had wanted to ask since Ms. Ridges had confronted them the moment they'd stepped back into the study. "What foster homes? What's the story with the Collins kids?"

Roarke slowly closed the distance between himself and her, stopping beside the newel post and laying a hand atop hers. "According to the letter Ms. Ridges showed me, the Collins' children's parents were lost at sea a month ago," he explained gently, watching her eyes grow wide with shock and instant empathy. "The United States Coast Guard has been on an extended search for them, but they have not been found, and they are feared dead. None of the youngsters is old enough, legally, to care for themselves, so they were all placed in foster care—in separate homes." Leslie winced, and he nodded. "Rob will be eighteen in August; but until then, they are at the mercy of the foster system. Thus, their fantasy. They are attempting to make it big as rock stars so that they will have enough money to support themselves and remain together."

"Yeah, but they still have to dodge the law for three more months," Leslie pointed out. "Is that why you said they could stay here as long as you feel like letting them?"

"Partly, yes," Roarke said. "Despite that Rob got them onto the island via slightly underhanded methods, they deserve the chance to see their fantasy come true, at the very least. And to that end, I will see to it that they do." He smiled at her. "For now, my child, I suggest you go on up to bed and get some sleep. We'll have a busy day tomorrow."

"I just hope that busy day has a happy ending," Leslie sighed, climbed two steps, and then corrected herself. "No, two happy endings." She returned Roarke's smile, then made her way up to her bedroom, suddenly grateful that she had somehow escaped the foster system between her family's deaths and her arrival on Fantasy Island.

 **§ § § - May 13, 1979**

Tattoo, sent with a driver on a raft of special errands that Roarke theorized (or more likely just hoped) would keep him out of trouble, was off on a mission, looking absurdly self-important, Leslie thought. So she was the one who ventured back to the manager's office at the amusement park, after the driver dropped her off and steered back toward the Ring Road with Tattoo in tow. She had to ask one of the gate attendants where it was; it was gratifying and a little heady for her to be promptly recognized as Roarke's ward, meaning that she was let in without further question and informed that the office was on the ocean side of the park.

She shortly found it; it helped that there was a sign designating it. It was a small white building with a red awning striped in yellow. She slipped inside what turned out to be a tiny rectangular foyer with a chair on either side of the door; on one wall was mounted a magazine rack whose contents turned out to be anywhere from two to eight years out of date. Across from the door was another door marked simply OFFICE, which stood ajar; she peeked inside and saw that Derrus, Monica and Kevin were all clustered inside. Monica was just feeding a coin into one of those prize machines that required you to manipulate a claw to grasp the item you wanted and get it to the drop slot so you could claim it; Kevin stood next to her watching avidly. Derrus was at the desk; he blinked at Leslie when she handed him the short stack of papers Roarke had told her to take to him. Kevin and Monica both greeted her quickly before they returned their full attention to the machine while Derrus began looking through the pages. Leslie clasped her hands behind her back and looked on, feeling indulgent as the oldest member of the group in the room. Monica, for once, looked like a girl; she had shed her Angels cap, which perched on the corner of the desk, and was clad in a red pleated skirt and a sleeveless white summer blouse with a ruffled collar embroidered with flowers. Derrus and Kevin both wore Hawaiian-print shirts; Derrus looked more official in white slacks, whereas Kevin wore shorts and calf-high baseball socks with sneakers.

Monica was well into the game when Derrus jumped out of his chair with papers in hand. "Okay, you guys, listen up," he said, approaching them. Leslie turned to him, but Monica and Kevin seemed not to hear; Monica groaned as the prize she'd managed to grab slipped out of the claw and fell back into the pile. "Guys, c'mon!" Derrus insisted.

"Hey, this is urgent," Leslie prodded gently.

Finally Monica and Kevin turned around, leaning against the machine and watching Derrus expectantly. He nodded once and began, "All right. I'm sorry to get you up so early in the morning, but Leslie showed me some reports, and we have real problems. Leslie?"

Leslie had occupied herself reading the papers on the way from the main house, and knew full well what they were about. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded Kevin and Monica. "Well, for starters, the park's run out of some things. For example, cotton candy and hot-dog buns." She noticed Monica hunch her shoulders guiltily, exchanging a look with Kevin. "Also," Leslie went on a little ominously, "some of our key employees have been excused for the day."

"I only excused the guy on the Ferris wheel," Monica ventured, fidgeting nervously. "He said he wanted to go fishing with some friends."

"Well, that's unfortunate," Leslie countered, "because it just so happens that those friends were working on three other rides, and Kevin gave them the day off." Kevin winced; he and Monica looked at each other again and sighed, chastened.

Then Derrus confessed, "Well, I'm afraid that...I let some off too."

Leslie took in their faces and shook her head once or twice. "Uh-huh. Well, the total result of that is that the park is short on help."

"Which means that we have to go to work," added Derrus reluctantly.

"Work!?" blurted Kevin and Monica in revolted disbelief. Leslie rolled her eyes; it was exactly the reaction she had expected from them. They'd been having far too much fun.

"To fill in the gap," Derrus explained. "Or the park won't open!"

"I didn't come here to work," Monica protested in disgust. "That's stupid!"

"Yeah," Kevin chimed in, "I came here to make people happy, and to work magic." Monica agreed with this in an indignant voice.

"C'mon, guys, y' _gotta_ work," Derrus begged.

"Why?" demanded Monica.

"How'll it make people happy if the amusement park's shut down for lack of workers?" countered Leslie pointedly, watching Kevin's face turn red and Monica hang her head.

"Besides, I have to fulfill my fantasy," Derrus added urgently.

Kevin, face still aglow with embarrassment, squinted at him. "Why's it so important, Derrus?"

"Well, it just is," Derrus evaded, then met Kevin's gaze after an anxious glance at Leslie. "Besides, we messed up, so we must be responsible."

His two fellow magic-club members looked ready to rebel; they made the mistake of looking at Leslie, who shot them the same stern look her mother always used to aim at her sister Kelly. Still they hesitated, scowling.

"C'mon, please?" Derrus pleaded.

Kevin gave in first. "Well...'kay by me. Monica?"

The girl broke into a sheepish grin. "C'mon, let's get going."

"All right," Derrus cheered, and the three of them scrambled out the door, eager to get started. Leslie watched them go, grinned to herself, and pushed her hands into her pockets, sauntering out in their wake and pausing beside the door just in time to see them split up and head in three different directions. She had no doubt that anyone who visited the park today was going to find some very interesting goings-on occurring. With a faint smile, she struck off across the park toward the storage shed where the Great Scott had been working on his motorcycle; Roarke had asked her if she'd kindly check on the stuntman to see how close he was to being ready for his jump later in the day.

She could hear hammering as she approached the building from one side, and stepped around the corner in time to notice Scott himself heading for the door. He smiled and gave her a playful salute as he limped past her; she smiled back and started to follow, but stopped when a voice from inside spoke. "Hank? Hank...who _is_ this guy, the Great Scott? I never heard of him before."

Hesitant, her stomach full of hummingbirds all of a sudden, Leslie eased her head around the doorway enough to see inside. Two workmen in white coveralls sat one on either side of a wooden ramp; one crouched on the near side with a hammer in his hand, while the other sat on the far side atop a trunk, eating a sandwich and staring down at a floor mat emblazoned with the Great Scott logo and the stylized picture of a caped man on a motorbike, leaping over flames. Scott, a few feet inside the building, slowed his steps, still unnoticed by both workmen.

The one with the hammer chuckled once. "Yeah, well, you'll probably never hear of him again either. He's just a cheap carny artist. Y'know, the guy wouldn't even be here if his own kid hadn't hired him." Scott, who had still been approaching the two men, stopped altogether, and Leslie smothered a gasp behind one hand.

"Huh, how 'bout that," mumbled the sandwich-eating man, and Leslie closed her eyes, stepping back from the doorway. So much for Derrus' big secret. She was still trying to think of a way to tell Roarke when Scott emerged from the building and caught sight of her standing there.

"Is that true?" he asked, but Leslie heard no indignation in his voice, only astonishment. "Derrus hired me to do this stunt?"

Leslie hesitated, wondering how much she should tell him, and how much trouble she'd get into for doing it. She reasoned that Scott knew at least this much by now, thanks to those two bigmouths in there, and sighed, letting her shoulders slump. "Yeah, it's true." She stared pleadingly at him. "But please, don't let on that I said anything. It's supposed to be a surprise. Derrus wanted to keep it a secret till you did your stunt, I think. I mean, Mr. Roarke didn't tell me all that much either."

Scott seemed to hunch into himself slightly, resting his weight on his good leg and pondering it. At some length he looked up and smiled at her. "I get it. Well, thanks, Leslie. And don't worry, I won't say anything to Mr. Roarke."

Deeply relieved for some inexplicable reason, she thanked him, wished him good luck, and scurried away from the park for the nearest shuttle-bus stop. Fortunately she had timed it just right, and reached the stop just as a bus going east pulled up. The driver waved her aboard with a smile; she handed him a quarter for the fare and fell into the first empty seat, keeping an eye on her watch as the vehicle rumbled along toward the resort.

However, when she finally got there and ran down the lane and into the house, she had no chance to tell Roarke anything, for Ms. Ridges the social worker was in the study with him. She turned around and eyed the out-of-breath girl. "And are you another refugee from a foster home?" she asked in her ice-coated voice, turning as she said the last two or three words to glare at Roarke.

"Miss Leslie Hamilton happens to be my legal ward," Roarke replied, his own voice frosty enough to make Ms. Ridges snap her mouth closed. "I suggest you concentrate on your own case, if you don't mind. Leslie, since you're here, you can accompany us to the Collins bungalow."

Which she did, her stomach churning for two reasons now. Roarke tapped on the door; one of his resort employees opened it, and they stepped inside. In the back of the main room, Rob Collins was lounging on a sofa, talking on the phone with someone. "Oh hi, c'mon in," he invited, gesturing at them; they did so, with Leslie patently amazed that he didn't seem to evince any alarm at sight of Ms. Ridges. Surely he knew who she was?

Into the phone Rob said, "You're offering us a three-month tour of the Orient? … Well, sure, I know that's a lot of money. We just can't do it—no, not under any circumstances, I'm sorry. Bye-bye." He hung up and sat back, looking quite composed and self-assured. Leslie took in his attire and realized he, at least, was really adopting the clichéd star routine; he was clad in a brown animal-print robe trimmed with tarnished-gold satin and open halfway to his navel, like some sort of aspiring lounge lizard. He had on pants that matched his robe's trim and wore a pair of dark-gold boots, which at the moment were propped up against the glass coffee table; pink-lensed sunglasses nested in his dark hair.

"Well, Rob, how is success treating you?" Roarke inquired genially.

"Oh, it's fantastic! Would you believe I've been on these phones all morning? And look at these telegrams!" Rob gathered up a messy pile of small yellow papers and handed them to Leslie. "Movies, TV specials, recording contracts, you name it!"

Leslie squinted at each one as she picked her way through them, handing them to Roarke once she had read them over. Ms. Ridges for once wore a look that advertised something other than frigid disdain; she seemed perplexed and disbelieving, reading the telegrams as Leslie handed them to Roarke. "He's right," she said, staring up at her guardian. "There must be a dozen offers from all kinds of entertainment venues." She turned to Rob and asked curiously, "How many of these offers did you agree to?"

"Well, I haven't agreed to any of them," Rob told her, resuming his seat. "I turned them all down in favor of Mr. Lipscomb." Leslie did a slow blink and her brows shot up with surprise, but she said nothing, instead shifting her regard to Roarke.

"Oh, uh, speaking of Mr. Lipscomb—I just spoke to him, and he'll definitely be here for tonight's concert," Roarke assured Rob.

"Oh, that's wonderful," said Rob as if it were simply their due.

Ms. Ridges looked up from the telegrams and inquired, "Suppose this Lipscomb isn't impressed with what he sees and hears?"

"Aw, c'mon, he's got to be," Rob contradicted, his voice filled with optimistic certainty, as he popped to his feet and rounded the table to address them all directly.

"Ah, but Ms. Ridges has a point," Roarke said. "Perhaps you were a bit hasty in rejecting all these other offers." He gestured at the telegrams, which Ms. Ridges had given back to Leslie.

"Rob, this is no life for you children," snapped Ms. Ridges. "You belong back in California."

"Yeah, right," shot back Rob, his voice cooling. "In four different foster homes? No thanks." To her credit, Ms. Ridges seemed perturbed by this observation, and shifted her weight. Rob added, "Look, we're gonna be an even bigger hit tonight."

"Lip-synching to your album, Rob?" Roarke inquired, his genial tone now sober.

Rob looked taken aback for a moment; he looked at Leslie, who tipped her head to one side and gave him a little nod. "We caught Tattoo running your record backstage," she said.

Rob blinked a few times, then regained his bravado. "Sure," he said. "That's the only way we can capture that sound."

Roarke nodded, then said, "Question: do the Collins kids intend to lip-synch their way through life?"

Open-mouthed, Rob stared at him. "I don't follow you, Mr. Roarke."

"Lip-synching is a form of deceit, Rob." The young man sighed and hung his head as if finally defeated, while Roarke went on: "So was telling me that you had parental permission to visit Fantasy Island. I've since learned that your parents were lost at sea and therefore couldn't possibly have granted permission."

Rob gave up. "All right, so I lied. But it was the only way to keep us kids together, and keep us out of four different foster homes!" Ms. Ridges looked a little regretful, but said nothing. "Mr. Roarke, we're a family, and we intend to stay together."

"Oh, I have no quarrel with your desire, Rob," Roarke said. "But it was still deceit, wasn't it?" Rob only stared at him, and he added gently, "A very false road to happiness, my young friend." He gripped Rob's shoulder for a second or two and concluded, "Think about it. Shall we?" He gestured to Leslie and Ms. Ridges, and they followed him out of the bungalow.

At the door Leslie hesitated and turned to see Rob still watching them leave, with a helpless, torn look on his face. "You really lied to Mr. Roarke about having your parents' permission to come here?" she asked. "I mean—Mr. Roarke explained it to me last night. We got home from someplace, and Ms. Ridges was waiting for us. She gave Mr. Roarke a piece of paper and told him she was your social worker and all that stuff, but she didn't explain what it was all about. Mr. Roarke told me after she left."

"Huh," muttered Rob, then eyed her. "Well, what about you, what're you doing here?"

"I'm Mr. Roarke's ward," she said. "My parents are dead too, and so are my little sisters. But if they had survived and we were stuck in foster care, I'd probably at least be considering the same kind of stuff you did, so I can see where you're coming from. But what were you gonna do till you turned eighteen in August, anyway? Hope that Brian Lipscomb guy liked you enough to sign you on, and then hidden out here on the island till your birthday came around and you could thumb your nose at Ms. Ridges or something?"

"It could happen, you know," Rob informed her, his words rimed with frost. "Don't write us off just yet. It's only three months, and I know enough that I can keep us going till I turn eighteen and I can be legal guardian for Willie and Jodie and Scooter. I'm not dumb."

"I never said you were," Leslie said, shrugging. "I'm just saying, it's a lot of stuff to worry about. I sure wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now."

"Well, you don't have to be," Rob spat. "You're lucky that way."

Leslie flinched, backed off another step, and muttered, "Sorry." She didn't wait for any response but fled out the door, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. Adults intimidated her, but she had always managed to stand her own ground with her peers; now she wondered if her attitude might not have put off kids in her past schools who might otherwise have been her friends. She considered it for a few seconds, then made a face and shook her head. Right was still right, no matter how many enemies it got you. She broke into a brisk walk in pursuit of the social worker and Roarke.

Ms. Ridges veered off toward the hotel where she had a room, and Roarke waited for Leslie to catch up with him before striking off for a shortcut path to the main house. But there was no rest for them there either, for waiting in the study, pacing the floor behind the red-brocade-upholstered club chairs, was the Great Scott. As soon as Roarke and Leslie came in through the French shutters, he stopped and pinned Roarke with a demanding glint in his dark eyes. "Tell me the truth, Mr. Roarke—did my son hire me to do that stunt at the amusement park?"

Roarke automatically turned to Leslie, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Scott beat them both to the punch. "It's not Leslie's fault," he said. "I overheard a couple of the rigging guys working on my motorbike ramp. They were talking about me and mentioned that Derrus was responsible for this. I asked Leslie, and she said it's true, but she told me she didn't know much more than that."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Roarke, but...well, he asked me," Leslie said helplessly.

Roarke relented at that and smiled. "All right, Leslie," he said, and she relaxed with relief while he turned to Scott. "Yes, Mr. Scott, it's the truth: your son has a fantasy, and you are part of it. He hopes that you'll benefit from its largesse if it's successful."

"Yeah?" Scott asked, bracing himself on the back of one of the chairs and favoring his lame leg.

Roarke nodded and gestured to the chair; Scott took it, an unconscious expression of relief washing across his face as he did so. Roarke sat behind the desk while Leslie claimed her own chair to listen in and, she hoped, learn more. "Derrus came here with two friends of his, Monica and Kevin, from his magic club. They arrived with your sister-in-law, Andrea. His fantasy was ostensibly to be allowed to run the island's amusement park for a weekend, but as it happens, he had a reason for doing so, and you were that reason." He sat back in his chair. "All your letters and postcards from your circuits around the country, talking about your exploits and stunts, always optimistic that the next one would be the big break that would catapult you—no pun intended, of course—into fame and fortune. He loves his Aunt Andrea, don't mistake me; but you are his father, and he dearly misses you."

Scott's face flushed, and he cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm aware of that," he admitted. "And it's not like I wanted things that way. My wife understood my dreams, and she always told me to go for it, but her sister...well, Andrea's much more practical and pragmatic. As much as I wanted Derrus with me, after my wife died, it made sense to let him live with her, so she could make sure he went to school and did his homework, and learned responsibility, and all the other stuff his mother would've taught him. I went back on the road. Y'see, I was more determined than ever to be successful in this career. I've dreamed of doing this kind of thing since I was a kid, and now it's important to me to succeed so I can give Derrus everything he deserves."

"That's admirable, Mr. Scott, but perhaps to Derrus, it's more important that you and he are together than that you're a famous stuntman," Roarke suggested.

"But Mr. Roarke," Leslie ventured then, "maybe Derrus just wanted his dad to have his dream too. I think he did this because he was trying to find a way to give everybody what they want—not just himself." She turned to the Great Scott. "Derrus is such a cool and terrific kid. He's got a great head on his shoulders, and he's not afraid to admit when he makes mistakes." On Scott's surprised look, she addressed Roarke again. "When I gave him those reports you told me to take to him, he stepped right up to the plate and took responsibility. He badgered Kevin and Monica into going to work so the amusement park could open up on schedule today, and once he talked them around, they all jumped right into it. He really wants his fantasy to work out."

Roarke and Scott both smiled broadly, and Roarke patted her shoulder. "I'm very glad to hear that—thank you for telling me, Leslie. Of course, Mr. Scott..." He paused a moment and studied the stuntman. "Don't mistake me; I certainly wish you every success, and it is my hope that your stunt this afternoon will be a rousing triumph and cast you in the spotlight so that you can achieve your dreams for both yourself and your son. But perhaps you should consider what may be best for Derrus at this time—and perhaps for yourself as well."

Scott digested that for a few seconds, then nodded. "I guess I see what you're getting at. But I'm in too deep now to back out. Derrus went to a lot of trouble to arrange this for me, and I'm not gonna let him down. Nothing on earth means more to me than that." He pushed himself back to his feet. "Thanks for talking to me, both of you."

"Not at all," Roarke said with a congenial smile.

"Best of luck, Mr. Scott," Leslie put in.

"Thanks, Leslie," Scott replied, smiling, and made his way out, seeming to favor his bad leg a little more than he had earlier. Leslie watched him go, wondering how long ago he'd damaged that leg.

Then Roarke inquired, "Were you going to mention your encounter with Mr. Scott to me, Leslie, or merely wait till I had found out on my own?"

She hunched her shoulders. "I really did want to tell you, but when I got back from the park, Ms. Ridges was here and I didn't have the chance. Mr. Scott beat me to it."

"I see," said Roarke. He smiled again. "As a matter of fact, young lady, you did a very nice job there, telling me about Derrus' reaction to those reports. Thank you for letting me know. For now, suppose you take a bit of a break and work on some of the incoming mail."

This lasted all of twenty minutes before Derrus' aunt, Andrea, stormed into the study, startling Leslie into dropping a stack of mail from which she had just removed the rubber band. While Leslie was scraping envelopes off the floor, Andrea demanded, "Just what do you think you're up to, Mr. Roarke? I just found out that my brother-in-law is on this island! You had no right to bring him here!"

Roarke, as ever, kept a cool head. "Well, I'm afraid you are mistaken; I didn't bring the Great Scott here. Derrus did."

"Derrus?" Andrea exclaimed, and Roarke nodded. "But his fantasy was to—"

Roarke's headshake made her break off. "I'm afraid Derrus may be guilty of a magician's sleight of hand. The fantasy of running an amusement park with the other children wasn't all he had in mind." Leslie, having gathered all the mail, looked up to see a puzzled expression on Andrea's face. "His real fantasy," Roarke explained, "was to provide his father with his big break as a performer."

Andrea absorbed that for a moment while Leslie got to her feet and placed her stack of letters atop the desk with exaggerated care. Then she asked, "But why?"

"He's convinced," Roarke said gently, "that this will be the chance his father has been searching for all these years—the break he needs to gain fame and fortune so that the two of them can be together at last, and his father will no longer need to spend so much time circling the country on tour."

Andrea heaved a great sigh and hung her head for a moment, shaking it. "If only they could see what a long shot that is..." she mumbled. Her foot tapped the floor a few times before she looked up, resolve in her features. "Where is he now? I want to talk to him."

Roarke tossed a brief glance at the grandfather clock near the steps to the inner foyer. "He should be back at the amusement park by now; I'll call a driver to take you there."

Andrea thanked him and left without further ado; Roarke picked up the phone, pushed a button and had a few words with someone, then hung up and gazed absently into the foyer. Leslie took her own chair once more, reached for the stack of letters, then caught herself and remarked, "I hope there's something in Derrus' fantasy for Andrea too. I think she kind of needs it."

Roarke smiled at her. "Well noted, my child. Go ahead and set those aside for a while; it's just about time for lunch in any case."

‡ ‡ ‡

It was nearing three o'clock, and Leslie had gone through all her mail and was trying to finish her book, when there came a tapping on the inner-foyer door. Roarke called out for the person to come in; it was a native teenage boy, clad in white shorts and a red shirt with white buttons, who handed Roarke a telegram. "Just came in, sir," he said.

"Thank you," Roarke replied, handing him a bill and nodding. The boy shot a glance at Leslie, without otherwise acknowledging her, and departed, while Roarke unfolded the telegram and read it twice.

"What's it say?" Leslie asked, trying to see it from where she sat.

Roarke folded it and slipped it into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. "You'll find out shortly," he said with a mysterious grin at her that had a trace of the imp about it. "Come with me; we have a visit to pay to the Collins children."

In about ten minutes they were at the supper club; from the back room they could hear a voice, which Leslie recognized as belonging to Ms. Ridges. As they neared the door into that room, her words became distinct: "...and I now have a court order, which means—"

"Four foster homes, right?" Rob interrupted bitterly.

There was a slight pause; Leslie saw Ms. Ridges lower her head a little before murmuring, "I'm afraid so."

Roarke smiled, took care to erase it, then called out firmly, "I'm afraid not." He stepped around Leslie and strode into the back room; she jerked into movement and trotted in alongside him, pulling up at the table where she had a good view of the stage and everyone standing around Roarke and Ms. Ridges. The social worker whipped around at the sound of his voice and began, "Now see here, Mr. Roarke—"

"No, no, no, _you_ see here, Ms. Ridges," Roarke broke in, overriding her. He withdrew the yellow sheet from his jacket pocket. "You see, I have just received a telegram announcing that the children's parents were found—alive."

Shock transformed the Collins kids' faces, and Leslie felt it filter through her own system at the same time. She had a half-second's fervent wish that she could receive the same news about her own mother before Rob, Willie, Jodie and Scooter reacted. "What?" Rob gasped.

"Alive?" Willie cried.

"I told ya, I _told_ ya they're all right!" Scooter exulted as Jodie hugged him, joy all over her face.

"Yes," Roarke said, delighted by their response. "They were washed ashore in a very remote area of Mexico." He glanced over at the heavyset, mustachioed man who Leslie assumed was the famous Brian Lipscomb; he was smiling, and even Ms. Ridges looked glad, if only grudgingly so.

"Mr. Roarke, are you serious?" Rob demanded, as if afraid to believe.

"Totally," Roarke assured him, unfolding the telegram and handing it over to him. "Read this."

All four siblings did so; the three youngest hugged one another again while Rob paused and said, heartfelt, "Thank you, Mr. Roarke." Then he drew his sister into a hard embrace while Willie hefted Scooter off the floor, and murmured, near tears, "We're going home!"

The adults looked on, smiling; Leslie felt her eyes sting and slowly fill with tears, as much from happiness for the Collins siblings as from envy of them. "Love," murmured Roarke, "the greatest healing power of them all." He smiled; Ms. Ridges did too, but Leslie could hardly see for her tears, and turned her back on them, hoping to hide them.

Ms. Ridges and Brian Lipscomb conferred with Roarke for a minute or two while Leslie struggled to control her emotions, and managed at last to get the tears to dry. She blinked a few times to clear her vision, and then something white filled it: Tattoo. "You okay?" he asked, low.

"I-I will be," she said hoarsely and cleared her throat. "It's nice that...that miracles can happen for some folks. I'm glad they don't have to put up with foster homes anymore."

Tattoo gave her an admonishing look. "Neither do you," he pointed out.

"No, but...their parents are alive," Leslie reminded him. "That's the best thing of all."

"That's right," Tattoo said, "but not everybody gets that kind of luck. But you're lucky too, you know. You've got the boss, and if you can't have your mother back, then he's the best there is."

She turned that over in her mind, then essayed a wobbly smile. "Yeah, you're right about that." He smiled back; then his presence really registered in her mind, and she blinked at him, then leaned down a little. "Hey, what're you doing here anyway?—oh no, don't tell me. Playing the Great and Terrible Oz again, were you?"

"Well..." Tattoo began, looking sheepish.

"How much did you make them pay you this time?" she wanted to know.

Tattoo's round face took on a deeply hurt and offended expression. "Oh, Leslie Susan!" he scolded. "That's not fair!"

"Is too," she retorted. "Another ten bucks?"

"Twenty," he grumbled, and when her mouth dropped wide open, he protested, "Hey, it's for Brian Lipscomb!" He said the man's name as if he were the King of England.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, and he shrugged, just as Roarke finished talking with Lipscomb and Ms. Ridges and caught sight of them. "And what are you two up to?"

Tattoo threw Leslie a pleading look, and she knew she shouldn't give in to it, but she did anyway and decided to refrain from tattling on him to her guardian. "Just talking. He was kind of comforting me," she said.

Roarke nodded complete understanding. "Are you all right, child?" he asked.

"I will be," she said again, and this time her smile was real. "I'm glad they won't get stuck in separate foster homes now. It's a great ending."

"Do you think they're still gonna be rock stars?" Tattoo asked.

Roarke laughed. "No, but Mr. Lipscomb has offered them a contract to write song lyrics to go with music for a hot young composer he's just hired, and I suspect they'll accept it—with, of course, their parents' permission." He winked at Leslie, and she grinned. "And now, with that all settled, come along with me, both of you—we have one more fantasy to see through, and we better get to the amusement park as quickly as we can drive there."


	4. Chapter 4

**§ § § - May 13, 1979**

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Great Scott!" a voice announced over the loudspeakers that broadcast across the park, and out from behind a stand of trees emerged a green motorcycle with a helmeted and cape-clad figure astride it. Roarke, Leslie, Tattoo and Andrea stood near the launch ramp watching as he tipped back enough to ride the bike on its rear wheel for most of the run to the ramp; he let the bike coast up to the top, then stopped and slowly backed it down before removing his helmet and beaming at them.

"Looks good, and I'm ready!" he announced.

"Good luck, Mr. Scott!" Tattoo said, grinning.

Just then one of the park employees, a native islander dressed in a white coverall jumpsuit and a red ball cap, ran around a short hedge that separated the path and launch ramp from the merry-go-round and the rest of the park behind it. "Mr. Scott?" he exclaimed, half out of breath. "You're the stuntman around here. We need your help, quick—there's a kid hanging on the Sky Ride."

They all shot up straight with alarm and looked around. Over the top of the merry-go-round, they could see the big wheel with the sixteen enclosed cars on it in various bright colors. Near the top, they spotted the small human figure dangling from a green car.

"You got it," Scott exclaimed immediately and turned to another park attendant. "Hey, watch my bike for me, will you?" He swung around and leaped off it; everyone broke into a run behind him and the first park attendant, except for Roarke, who gazed up at the figure hanging on the ride, his face creased with worry. Faintly the child's cry for help carried to him on the breeze.

He caught up with the rest of the crowd just in time to hear the park attendant explain what had happened. "We stopped the wheel and fixed it, but that kid up there...see?" He pointed skyward. "He insisted on taking a test run. Now he's stuck up there."

"It's Derrus!" Scott cried, and exclaimed to the attendant, "He must've slipped the pin on the car and tried to climb down again. How long to fix the wheel?"

"They're doing it right now," the attendant said and rushed off to get more help; as Andrea, Tattoo, Leslie and Roarke rounded the base of the wheel to its entrance, they saw Scott already hoisting himself onto the outer frame of the wheel and grasping a support strut, beginning the long climb up. "That's Derrus!" gasped Andrea, horrified.

"Oh no," whispered Leslie, shocked.

Scott heaved himself onto another strut, grasped his bad leg for a moment and pushed himself on. "Hang on, son, I'm coming!" he yelled.

Monica and Kevin, Derrus' two friends, appeared from elsewhere in the park and stopped short beside Leslie, staring anxiously up, just as they heard Scott yell, "Don't look down, Derrus!" Leslie was sure the man's leg must be killing him, and couldn't take her eyes off the scene, barely aware of Roarke sliding an arm around her shoulders.

"Hurry, Dad, I'm slipping," Derrus cried.

"I'm almost there, son," Scott shouted back, now visibly struggling, but forcing himself on all the same. "Hang on!" Even from the ground they could make out Derrus' growing fear; he kept twisting his head around, trying to monitor his father's progress over one shoulder.

A metallic clink caught Leslie's attention and a mechanic called out, "That's good!" He made a signal at the native islander manning the wheel controls, and the teenager nodded and moved a lever up a notch or two. The wheel began to turn gradually, its motor's high-pitched metallic hum filling the air.

Scott seized a strut and clung desperately; the car from which Derrus hung shook, nearly dislodging the boy, who cried out in terror. The watching crowd on the ground gasped and shrieked in response. _"Don't move the wheel!"_ shouted Scott as loudly as he could.

The mechanics heard, and the first one signaled the attendant to stop the wheel; it ground to a halt as Derrus howled, "Hurry!"

Scott paused where he was, assessing the new angle of the wheel. "Hold on, Derrus, hold on," he called, getting back into action and making his laborious way across a horizontal-lying strut in his son's direction. They could see Derrus' body shifting as he tried to get a better grip on the edge of the car, but they knew it was to no avail when he called out to his father that he couldn't hang on. He sounded less panicked than Leslie was sure she would be in the same situation; she supposed that merely maintaining his grip on the car was enough to rob Derrus of the energy it would have taken to panic that much.

"Just a few seconds...more, son," they heard Scott pant as he grabbed another strut. Just as he put his weight on the new one, the one beneath his left foot gave way and broke loose, tumbling to the ground with a sound like breaking glass. The watching crowd screamed in horror.

As if spurred on, Scott edged across the strut like a racing, human-sized inchworm, reached Derrus and grabbed him around the waist, helping him inside the open car and then hoisting himself inside after him. The crowd cheered and applauded; Leslie sagged against Roarke, whom she felt relax against her, and looked up at him. He smiled broadly and squeezed her.

The wheel creaked into motion again and brought the pair safely down inside the car; they were close enough to hear Derrus admit, "I was afraid you'd never get here."

"Are you kidding?" his father retorted cheerfully. "I'm the Great Scott!" Derrus laughed, and they climbed out with the help of the park attendant who had first warned Scott about Derrus, while Roarke, Leslie, Tattoo and Andrea flocked up to the ride and waited for them. Andrea caught Derrus on the concrete ramp leading to the ground and hugged him hard.

"On behalf of us all, thank you, Mr. Scott," Roarke said. "That was a remarkable test of courage. And, uh, under the circumstances, if you wish to postpone your motorcycle jump, perhaps change it to another day..."

Scott shook his head, his features solemn. "No jump, Mr. Roarke. Not now, or ever."

Derrus stared up at him; Andrea watched with wary eyes. Roarke exclaimed, "Oh, you can't be serious, Mr. Scott! You told me nothing in the world meant more to you."

Scott smiled faintly. "Well, now something does," he said, looking at Derrus, who returned it in surprise. "I don't belong up there. I belong down here on the ground with my son." He grinned; Derrus' face broke into a big grin as well. They hugged each other, and over his father's shoulder, Derrus beamed at Roarke, who winked at him. Andrea, as well as Leslie and Tattoo, saw Derrus return the wink; she squinted at Roarke in puzzlement, but Roarke merely smiled that mysterious smile and patted Leslie's shoulder, looking on.

 **§ § § - May 14, 1979**

The Scotts had gathered in Roarke's study Monday morning early, just after Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie had finished breakfast, and for a few minutes Derrus and Leslie had been comparing notes about the loss of their mothers before Mariki, who had been cleaning the study, gathered her tools and bustled out. Then Scott pulled himself to his feet and said, "Mr. Roarke, I owe you an explanation about the decision I made yesterday."

"Oh, that's not necessary, Mr. Scott," Roarke demurred.

But Scott insisted, "Please, let me. What kept running through my mind when I was climbing up that Ferris wheel was, if I got seriously hurt, what would happen to Derrus? Who would be able to help him? Then I just started extending that thought to beyond the Ferris wheel...well, to the rest of our lives. And that's the real dream." He squeezed Derrus' shoulders, and Derrus smiled.

"Then," said Roarke, "it was a wise decision, Mr. Scott."

"I think so," Scott agreed. "I'm temporarily unemployed, but I'm gonna set up a household with Derrus, and, well...something'll turn up." Leslie noticed Andrea watching in silence, looking a bit skeptical but holding her own counsel.

"As a matter of fact," Roarke said then, "I have a proposition for you. The job of general manager of the amusement park is open." On Scott's and Derrus' surprised looks, Roarke nodded. "Yes, the former manager quit to fulfill his fantasy of training lions and tigers. Will you take over as manager, Mr. Scott?'

Both Scott and Derrus lit with astonishment and delight; Andrea's face began to take on a soft glow, and a little smile broke out as Scott stammered, "I...I...what do you think, Derrus?"

"I think it's a great idea, Dad," his son replied, beaming. "I could help you a lot. I know a lot about amusement parks now." As he spoke, Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie exchanged secret glances, all three smiling. It looked, Leslie realized, as if they had two new residents of Fantasy Island.

Scott let out a laugh and turned to his sister-in-law. "What do you think, Andrea?"

She arose, her eyes taking on an extra shine, and cradled Derrus' face in one hand for a moment. "I think that this little boy's fantasy has just come true."

Scott grinned and turned to his hosts. "You got yourself a manager, Mr. Roarke. In fact, two managers." He squeezed Derrus again. "The best two managers any amusement park could have."

Derrus grinned; Tattoo reached out and shook hands with him, and they all laughed. Roarke promised to show them available housing options once he had seen their other guests off to the balloon and then the charter plane, then showed them out so that they could start packing their things for a move into a permanent home. Andrea murmured a thanks and promised to meet Roarke at the plane dock when their regular guests departed.

The moment they had left, Leslie abruptly thought of something and gave Roarke an accusing look. "Wait a minute. You told Derrus and Monica and Kevin Saturday that you were the manager of the park, when they found out they were assistant managers. So what do you mean about the job being open? Did you decide to start training lions and tigers, or what?" At that Tattoo laughed.

Roarke shot him a quelling look, then chuckled. "I _was_ the manager," he clarified, "for the weekend. The regular manager quit on Thursday, and I was merely filling in. So I was telling those children the truth on Saturday. Now Mr. Scott is manager, and that will be one less burden on my shoulders. I have no doubt he'll do an excellent job."

"Derrus'll have to break up his magic club," Tattoo observed. "His friends will miss him."

"But they can come back and get into the amusement park for free," said Leslie slyly, at which Tattoo snorted and Roarke laughed.

Half an hour later, in the clearing where the balloon waited, its pilot shepherded Monica and Kevin aboard for the trip back; both kids expressed envy of Derrus, but vowed they'd be back with their parents and siblings as soon as summer vacation from school got under way. Roarke laughed, told them he would look forward to seeing them all again, and waved them onto the balloon, along with Leslie. But as they did, they both shot dubious looks at Tattoo, who, in the intervening time between seeing the charter plane off and making the trip here to the clearing, had managed to cram himself into a bright-yellow chicken costume of such a strong hue that it almost hurt their eyes to look at him. Roarke gave Leslie a quizzical look; she hunched her shoulders, flipped her palms into the air and shook her head blankly. He sighed and demanded of his assistant, "Will you kindly explain why you chose to wear your latest disguise right here and now?"

"I got stuck," Tattoo said plaintively. "I couldn't get out of it!"

Roarke shot him an exasperated look, including Leslie in it when she tried with only partial success to stifle a giggle. Then their attention was diverted when they heard Rob Collins call out, "Mr. Roarke!" Leslie peered over Tattoo's chicken feathers and around her guardian to watch him hurry into the clearing, followed by his siblings. "Mr. Roarke, thank you for everything." He shook hands.

"Oh, you are most welcome, all of you. Uh...do you still wish to become rich and famous rock stars?" Roarke inquired curiously.

"We already are, partly," Jodie said, referring to the lyric-writing contract. "But the best thing is, we got our parents back!"

Scooter spoke up at that point. "Mr. Roarke, will you do me a favor?"

"Well, of course, Scooter, what is it?" Roarke inquired.

"If a Rolls-Royce salesman calls and asks for me, tell him to cancel those four cars I ordered," said Scooter sheepishly. They all laughed, shook hands with Roarke and Leslie (after some odd looks of their own at Tattoo the chicken) and headed for the balloon.

As soon as they were well out of earshot, Roarke turned to Tattoo and commented in disgust, "Now that our guests have gone, for your information, this is positively your worst disguise. You fooled absolutely no one with it."

Tattoo flipped back the oversized chicken beak that had sat over his nose and rendered him effectively blind, and stared up at Roarke in dismay. "No one at all?"

"Not even me," Leslie said dryly.

"Not a soul," Roarke agreed. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say that your latest disguise laid a big egg."

Tattoo groaned incredulously. "Oh, boss."

"No, really, Tattoo." Roarke pointed behind him, and Tattoo cranked around while Leslie looked that way and canted forward in disbelief. "Look, look here." Sure enough, Roarke stooped and picked up an egg the size of a cantaloupe. Tattoo's lower jaw dropped to his knees with shock.

"That wasn't there a minute ago," Leslie blurted, wide-eyed.

"Boss, where did you find that egg?" Tattoo exclaimed.

"Right there," Roarke said. "You laid it."

"Boss, that's not possible. You know I cannot lay eggs," Tattoo protested in disbelief.

"Well, you just did," Roarke insisted. Leslie began to giggle, trying to hide it with both hands but not succeeding very well.

"No, I did not!" Tattoo argued. "You're putting me on, boss!"

Roarke's eyes narrowed and he shifted the egg so that he was holding it in both hands. "Am I, Tattoo? Am I really?" His expression caused self-doubt to flood Tattoo's features, and Roarke added meaningfully, "After all, anything is possible on Fantasy Island." With that he handed his assistant the egg; Tattoo took it, unsure as to what else to do with it, and stared at it, bewildered. Only then did Roarke's composure begin to break up; he caught Leslie's eye as he tried to stifle a chuckle, and that spoiled all her control. She burst out laughing, and couldn't stop even when Tattoo aimed a fiery glare on her that should have sent her up in a pillar of flame right on the spot.

"It's not funny, Leslie Susan Hamilton!" he stormed at her.

"It wouldn't have to be if you'd just disguised yourself as a rooster instead of a hen," she shot back merrily, and that sent Roarke into a gale of laughter too. Tattoo threw his arms into the air, sending the egg sailing off behind him.

 **§ § § - June 2, 2012**

The triplets were squalling with delight at Tattoo's antics by the end of their story, and Anastasia was convulsed with giggles too, even though much of the story went right over her head. Still, Leslie was happy to see her youngest included in the fun.

Christian was laughing too, perhaps in spite of his better judgment. "Truly," he said, shaking his head, "that assistant of yours must have created some strange situations."

"That's one way to put it," commented Roarke, amused.

"So tell me something," the prince went on, shifting position in his chair and swallowing another gulp of coffee. "These children looking to become rock stars: how old were they then?"

"Well, you know Rob was almost eighteen and Scooter was nine," Leslie said, and Christian nodded. "If I remember right, Willie was about fifteen and Jodie was twelve."

"And they were able to play instruments competently enough to believe they had a real chance of making it to musical stardom?" Christian prodded skeptically. "Especially the two younger ones."

Roarke simply smiled, leaving Leslie to flail through it on her own; she threw him a dirty look before something crossed her mind. "Well, I don't really know how well Jodie and Scooter could play, but I suppose it was about as plausible as the Partridge Family."

Roarke smiled, but otherwise this met with blank looks. "The what?" Christian asked.

"Who're they?" Tobias wanted to know.

"It's an old TV show from the early 70s, about a family band led by a widow," Leslie explained. "The show itself was based on a real-life family group. Anyway, the TV Partridges had two kids even younger than Jodie and Scooter, who were supposed to be professional musicians. If people could fall for that, I guess they could fall for a twelve-year-old drummer and a nine-year-old keyboard player."

"If you say so," Christian said, shaking his head again, but a smile broke out on his beautiful features and Leslie knew he'd let her off the hook. "Well then. So what other children's fantasies did you grant that summer?"

"One I recall in particular," Roarke mused, "made such an impression on Leslie that even I was reluctant to discuss it with her—or even within earshot of her—for months thereafter. There were a few coincidences with her own life that hit close to home for her. It wasn't the only fantasy that did this, just the first; but her reaction was so strong that I feared for her emotional health should she be exposed to too many more such fantasies."

"So it was almost two years before he let me watch him grant another fantasy with so many parellels to my life," Leslie said, remembering all too well the fantasy her father was referring to. "I guess this one hit me because it hadn't been a full year since I lost Mom and my sisters, so the pain was still pretty fresh. And yet, at the same time, I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

"You're a study in contradictions, to be sure, my Rose," Christian teased gently. He turned to the children. "From what your mother and grandfather are saying, this will probably be a very sad story. Are you three quite sure you still want to hear it?"

They all nodded without hesitation. "Maybe when you're telling us about it, you'll talk more about Grandmamma Hamilton and Aunt Kristy and Aunt Kelly," Karina suggested, making Leslie blink in amazement. It was the first time any of her children had referred to her mother and sisters in such familiar terms, and the shock and wonder of it brought a stinging heat to her eyes. She smiled a little, winked at Karina, and turned to Roarke.

"I think I remember your insisting on my talking a little about them back then too," she said. "Well, let's get this story started. It actually happened the weekend after the one we just finished talking about. And there was nothing under the sun that could've kept me from being part of that fantasy, no matter how much discouraging both you and Tattoo did."

 **§ § § - May 19, 1979**

The balloon this weekend, Leslie saw, was rainbow-striped, the colors so bold that no one on the ground could possibly miss its passage unless they were staring intently at the dirt beneath their feet. After having welcomed their adult guests at the plane dock and sent them off to their bungalows—a young couple who wanted to discover a new comet to be named after themselves, and a college graduate seeking help in an attempt to choose between two young women who were both in love with him, and both of whom he loved—they were now on their way to the balloon-landing pad near the amusement park, and Leslie could hardly wait to find out who was coming.

Their first guest, it turned out, was about Leslie's age, and there was nothing at all remarkable about her, except perhaps for her extraordinary plainness. The curly waves of her dark-reddish-blonde hair were cut back to chin-length, and she wore braces and glasses with oversized lenses. She was dressed in a shapeless, plain white shirt with short sleeves and, incongruously, a snug, ribbed turtleneck collar, over khaki-colored slacks, and scuffed her way across the grass in the most exhausted-looking pale-pink sneakers Leslie had ever seen. Roarke noticed her watching the girl and inquired, "Do you recognize her, Leslie?"

Bewildered, she favored him with a vacant stare. "No, am I supposed to?"

"Her name is Alison Byers," Roarke said, his tone expectant.

Leslie's blank look didn't change at all; the name rang no bells. "Nope."

Roarke smiled a little and relented finally. "Perhaps you'll recognize the names of her parents: Mortimer and Adelaide Byers, better known as Blaze and Scarlet Blacke."

"Seriously? Her parents are in Diamond Fire?" Leslie exclaimed in astonishment.

"I know them," Tattoo added, suddenly excited. "The biggest country group in the world! Are they here on the island to perform?"

"No, at the moment the group is touring Europe, and they expect to be away for the next six weeks," Roarke explained. "They've been on the road since February, and as soon as they return to their homes in Nashville, they'll go straight into the studio to record their next album."

"Wow," said Tattoo, his gaze straying to the girl standing in silence some distance from the balloon, staring morosely into her ice-cream sundae. "Wait a minute—are you really sure that's Blaze and Scarlet Blacke's daughter? That can't be her at all. She's so...well, plain."

"That is exactly how she sees herself," Roarke said. "As the child of two internationally famous musicians, she feels she is expected to look and behave a certain way, but can't bring herself to do so. She has suffered a great deal of cruel taunting and teasing from her schoolmates, and has no one she can call a friend. She is fairly shy and decidedly bookish, and prefers to keep to herself; her governess adds that over the years she has also withdrawn further and further into herself. That's the lady just stepping out of the balloon, Miss Catherine Schultz." The governess was a genial-looking woman in her thirties, with smooth blonde hair caught back in a gold clip and clad in a smart emerald-green skirt and suit jacket over a cream-colored blouse. Where Alison Byers had ignored her hosts and everyone else around her, Miss Schultz paused to wave and smile at Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie.

"Bullied and no friends, huh?" Leslie said, shaking her head. "Poor thing. Is she the one who has the fantasy?"

"It's Miss Schultz's fantasy on Alison's behalf," said Roarke. "She has hopes that we can help instill some confidence and optimism in Alison. And when she discovered I had a fourteen-year-old ward, she was delighted: she has hopes that you and Alison might hit it off."

"I can try," Leslie said, always open to the prospect of a new friend. "Maybe I can even introduce her to my friends."

"That's the spirit," Roarke said approvingly, patting her shoulder. "And now..." His features grew solemn and a little sad as he turned his attention back to the balloon, from which a family of four were just now emerging. "The Endicott family: parents Gary and Iris, with their twelve-year-old daughter Nicole and their seven-year-old son Luke." Leslie noticed right away that the boy was tightly clutching his parents' hands and moving slowly and carefully along the grass; he was too thin and his face was pale, but his eyes were wide with wonder, taking in everything and exclaiming in delight. A teenage native boy was waiting nearby with a wheelchair; the Endicotts brought Luke over to it, and he flopped into it as though exhausted and grateful to get off his feet. He had just enough hair on his head for Leslie to see that it was straight and sandy-blond; his clothes, a short-sleeved jersey emblazoned with the number 10 and a pair of what looked like brand-new jeans, looked too big for him.

"Is Luke sick?" she asked Roarke.

He nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so, Leslie. Luke is nearing the final stages of terminal leukemia and has been in treatment for it since before his fourth birthday. The disease refuses, time and again, to be beaten back, and now his parents have been forced to admit he is dying."

"That's terrible!" exclaimed Tattoo. "He must be the one with the fantasy."

"And so he is. The Endicotts are here courtesy of the Make-a-Wish foundation, the organization that tries to fulfill the last wishes of terminally ill children. Most of their young clients have fairly easy requests: trips to visit Disneyland or Hawaii, a chance to meet a favorite television or music or sports star...but young Luke's wish was unfortunately beyond their ability. So they wrote to me asking for my help, and of course I agreed."

"What's he want?" Leslie asked.

Roarke grinned finally. "Since he was old enough to sit and listen to a story at bedtime, he's been fascinated by the 'Thousand and One Nights' tales. And it's from those stories that he took his fondest dream—deceptively simple but impossible anywhere but here on Fantasy Island. He wants, for this weekend, to be the proud owner of a flying carpet."

Leslie's mouth dropped wide open, and she turned to Roarke, half astonished, half disbelieving. "What...really? You're going to come up with a flying carpet? I can't wait to see this!"

"Won't he need a pilot's license for that?" asked Tattoo, completely earnest and serious, and Leslie giggled in spite of herself when Roarke peered oddly at him before accepting the sundae glass a native girl brought him and hoisting it in the same weekly greeting he gave at the plane dock. The Endicotts and Catherine Schultz all raised their own sundae glasses in response; Alison Byers didn't seem to react, but Leslie was pretty sure she was peering at them over the frames of her glasses. This, she decided, was going to be a very interesting weekend indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

**§ § § - May 19, 1979**

The trio met Gary and Iris Endicott in their bungalow about an hour after returning to the resort from the other side of the island. The adults shook hands, and everyone took a seat. "We're so grateful to you for doing this for Luke," Iris Endicott said. She was almost as thin as her son, her blonde hair lifeless, her face lined with fatigue and sorrow, but her eyes luminous with gratitude. "We don't know how much time he has left, so it was a relief to be able to tell him that the foundation was sending us here this weekend."

"I was more than happy to agree to do it," Roarke said warmly, "once I read the letter from the Make-a-Wish foundation. I can see how they would have been at their wits' end attempting to find a way to fulfill your son's request..."

"It seems like a sneaky way to get a trip to Fantasy Island," Gary Endicott admitted with a sheepish laugh. "But once we heard you'd accepted Luke's fantasy and we were coming here, he told us that Iris and Nicole and I could relax and do whatever we liked all weekend while he was having fun with his flying carpet. Which raised the question, of course—what did he plan to do on that thing while we were, uh, having fun and relaxing? Luke wouldn't say a thing, so we thought maybe you could answer that question for us."

Roarke grinned. "I see. Well, perhaps I can. The letter you wrote that the foundation forwarded with theirs explained in quite a bit of depth about Luke's fascination with the _Thousand and One Nights_ stories. I have decided to let him participate in three of those tales this weekend, all of them involving the carpet he so desires."

"Do you think he'll have the stamina to do that? His excitement and adrenaline won't be enough to keep him from wearing out," Iris protested anxiously. "In fact, he's asleep right now—the flights wore him out. We came all the way from Great Barrington, Massachusetts, so we had an awful lot of territory to cross."

Roarke leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, nodding understanding. "I was aware that Luke would be fatigued far more easily than most other children his age. I've made up a special potion for him; he need drink only one dose, and it will carry him through the entire weekend, right up till your departure Monday morning."

"Believe us," Tattoo added earnestly, "we want to see Luke have a great weekend and a happy fantasy as much as you do. So the boss is going all out for him."

Iris' eyes shone with tears. "You're so generous."

"Which of the stories is Luke going to be part of?" Gary asked.

"He'll be in the three most famous tales of the collection: _Aladdin and the Magic Lamp_ to begin; then _Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves_ ; and finally, _Sinbad the Sailor's Sixth Voyage_ , in which he visits what is now Sri Lanka. I'm sure that will be plenty of adventure for Luke."

"More than enough," Iris exclaimed. "He'll be thrilled when he hears about this, and he'll want to start right away. We just can't thank you enough, Mr. Roarke."

"Think nothing of it," Roarke said, smiling, and arose, upon which Leslie and Tattoo followed suit. "Luke will be perfectly safe during all three of his adventures, and he will play the central character in each of the stories, so that he will get the most out of the weekend. Let him sleep as long as he needs to; when he awakens, bring him to the main house, and we will take charge of him from there. You two and your daughter may take advantage of any amenities you wish, all on the house, via the foundation."

Amid fervent thanks from the Endicotts and promises that Luke would be there as soon as he was awake, Roarke, Leslie and Tattoo departed the bungalow. Knowing both his ward and his assistant would have questions, Roarke steered them onto a jungle trail that would take them to the main house via the flagstone terrace behind the French shutter doors in the back, to give them time to ask them.

"Are you sure Luke's gonna be okay?" questioned Tattoo, who often seemed like a different person around kids, Leslie had noticed, especially younger ones. Most adults found him odd at best, and usually tended to ignore him; those who brought children to the island—especially troubled ones—knew differently. Tattoo always unabashedly leaped to kids' defense, offered unrestrained comfort and reassurance when they needed it, and gave praise and encouragement at every turn. Leslie had seen him with just enough kids, mostly island children, to know the truth of this.

"Yes, Luke will be fine, my friend," Roarke assured him. "Because of his condition and his age, he will not be subject to the usual foibles and rules of having a fantasy granted. He is here merely to live out some of his favorite stories, and that's exactly what he will be doing: no more, no less. No harm whatsoever will come to him; I've seen to that myself."

"Even the harm he'd normally bring on himself during a fantasy?" Tattoo asked.

"None at all," Roarke said firmly. "I believe Luke knows the stories well enough that he will know exactly what to do as each tale progresses; if he should somehow deviate from the story as it is meant to play out, he will be guided back to the proper plotline as things progress, so that each tale will end as it should."

"And he's gonna have flying-carpet lessons, then, right? So he won't accidentally fall off it when he's trying to go somewhere?" persisted Tattoo.

Roarke stopped short on the path and propped his fists on his hips. "You are possibly the most suspicious man I have ever met, under certain circumstances." Leslie snickered at that.

"He's a kid, a little kid—a _sick_ little kid," Tattoo enumerated, standing his ground with an almost belligerent expression on his face. "If anything happens to him during this fantasy, I'll be as mad at you as if he were my own son."

Both Roarke and Leslie stared at him in amazement. "Geez," Leslie commented finally, "you're not even that nice to _me."_

"You're not sick, and you're not little," Tattoo informed her loftily and turned his attention back to Roarke. "Well, boss?"

Roarke squinted at him, beginning to look a little suspicious himself. "Is this about to lead to a demand that you be allowed to accompany young Master Endicott on his Arabian Nights adventure, for the sole reason that you refuse to trust me?"

Tattoo's expression shifted into thoughtful surprise; he stood and pondered it for a few seconds, then mused, "You know, that sounds like a pretty good idea."

Leslie frowned and ventured, "I don't think you should, Mr. Roarke. I mean...well, if Luke's gonna actually _be_ Sinbad and Aladdin and Ali Baba, and if he's living out each story the way it's written down, he won't need a chaperone. Anyway, he might not _want_ anybody with him. It'd probably just ruin his fantasy."

Roarke regarded her with interest and observed, "You may have a valid point, Leslie." She smiled, blithely ignoring the black, squint-eyed glare Tattoo aimed at her, and Roarke winked at her. "As for you, Tattoo, I suggest you give me the benefit of the doubt—and you might also remember that I am the one granting the fantasies. When you acquire my powers and are able to do everything I do for our guests, you will have plenty of room for complaint. Now I suggest we get back to the house quickly; we're in danger of being late for our appointment with Miss Schultz."

They had only just walked into the study from the terrace when the inner-foyer door opened, and Catherine Schultz entered, still looking as impeccable as she had upon arrival. "Hello, Mr. Roarke. Before I say anything else, I want to thank you for accepting my request on Alison's behalf."

As Roarke responded with a nod and a warm smile, Tattoo asked in surprise, "You mean Alison didn't ask for this fantasy?"

"No, Tattoo," Roarke said. "Miss Schultz made the request—and after the little discussion we just had, perhaps you should wait till you've heard the entire story before you venture any further comment. Miss Schultz, if you would, please?"

The governess made herself comfortable in her chair. "As I told you in my letter, Mr. Roarke, Alison's parents have given me full permission to act on their behalf for Alison's welfare— _in loco parentis,_ if you will. I've worked for them since Alison was born, and they know me very well. Not only that, but I grew up with Addie Xavier—Alison's mother. We've been the best of friends for more than thirty years; so Addie spoke up on my behalf when Tim asked what my qualifications were for caring for their only child..."

"Tim?" Roarke repeated.

Catherine smiled. "His full name is Mortimer, but he goes by Tim when he's not using his stage name. If your name were Mortimer, I'm sure you'd do the same thing."

Roarke chuckled politely and gestured at her to go on, and she nodded and continued, "Anyway, Diamond Fire hit it big while Addie was still pregnant with Alison, and they've been going strong ever since. Alison's birth was chronicled in the group's fan newsletter; from day one, she's been under a spotlight—of varying intensities, to be sure, but the fans have always known about her. But the constant attention hasn't been good for her. You see, Tim and Addie are forever sharing details of her life in the fan newsletter, which comes out every month and is distributed through Diamond Fire's official fan club. They tell everything: Alison's school report cards, her extracurricular activities—when she had them—whether she's gained or lost weight, how much she's grown lately, new interests, new clothes, any illness no matter how trivial. In short, Alison's life is an open book. Diamond Fire is so popular that I don't think there's anyone on at least three continents who's never heard of them, and the official fan club has something like two hundred thousand members, at last count. Any number of those members live in and around Nashville—and some of them have kids who go to school with Alison. Her classmates all know full well who her parents are. Unfortunately, they see fit only to make fun of her about it. Alison was a shy child to begin with, but the endless taunts and bullying from her schoolmates have driven her so far into a shell that I'm not sure anyone can get her out of it."

"If anyone can do it, Mr. Roarke can," Tattoo said confidently.

Catherine awarded him a vaguely doubtful look and said, "I hope so. Alison has an extremely negative self-image. She's heard for so long from her classmates that she's less than they are, in whatever ways they think she's inferior, that she believes it. And with Tim and Addie constantly on the road or in the recording studio, or doing TV guest shots or other publicity stunts, the person who raises her for the most part is me. They're good people, Mr. Roarke, really. It's just that Diamond Fire takes up almost all their time."

"Don't they ever have time off?" Roarke asked.

"Very little. Most people get two weeks' vacation every year. The members of Diamond Fire are lucky to get one week every two years. Tim and Addie do call Alison when they can, but right now they're on tour in Europe, and calls from there are expensive and not easy to make when you have to go through a transatlantic operator. The best they can do is send postcards. Maybe the occasional letter when they have a few extra minutes to write it."

"Wow," murmured Leslie, astonished.

"That's no way to raise a child," Tattoo said, trying to sound polite, but they could hear the indignation straining his voice.

Catherine addressed him now. "Believe me, Tattoo, I agree completely. I'm not censuring Tim and Addie—they had no way of knowing Diamond Fire would become so huge. And they're working this hard so they can add to a trust fund for Alison in case anything happens to them."

"But they must be filthy rich by now," Leslie finally spoke up, unable to hold her tongue any longer. "They can probably pay for Allison to go to college for, like, twenty years by now."

"True," said Catherine with a brief laugh. "Alison isn't in any danger of going without anything she needs." She sighed, then added softly, "Except time with her parents, that is—and that's all she wants. So she says."

"Do you think there's more?" Roarke asked.

"I honestly think she'd like to have friends," Catherine said through another sigh, "which of course isn't going to happen in Nashville. Her schoolmates there know her too well, and you know how kids are at this age especially. Alison turns fourteen tomorrow, and I was hoping it might be possible to give her a real birthday celebration. Not the ones she's used to, with hired circus performers or elaborate trips to the city, or even a visit to Disney World or something like that. She's had all that stuff. She says she's sick of Disney World because she's been there eight times since it opened. I can't blame her. I think she'd like just an ordinary birthday party, where she can have cake and ice cream, and invite some friends to celebrate with her—people who don't know about her parents. Which I suppose is impossible."

"Perhaps not, Miss Schultz," Roarke said, his voice and his slight smile mysterious. "I think I can come up with what Alison wants, but I'll need a little time to arrange it. You and Alison may both take advantage of our amenities for the morning; then, if you like, you two are invited to have lunch with us here at the main house. At that time I'll explain the plans to you both."

Catherine was leaning forward listening avidly as he spoke; when he stopped, she waited, as if expecting more. Once it became clear that he'd said all he meant to say, she sat up straight with a puzzled look on her face. "Is that it?"

"Do you have any requests to make that I should know about?" inquired Roarke.

"Um, well, no...I guess not. I just thought you'd, well, tell me your ideas, I guess."

"Ideas?" Roarke repeated, as if the word were in a language he didn't speak.

"You mean, like shutting down the amusement park so Alison could have her birthday party there?" Leslie suggested. "Or at the pool, or maybe the stables?"

Catherine started shaking her head before Leslie was halfway through her speech. "No, don't inconvenience your other guests for that stuff. Besides, Alison's tired of amusement parks in general; she hates horses, and she can't swim."

"Oh," mumbled Leslie, deflated.

Roarke patted her shoulder. "You've helped, actually, child. I believe I see what you're getting at, Miss Schultz. Simply an ordinary, everyday birthday party for Alison."

"With friends to help her celebrate," Catherine emphasized. "The party's the easy part of this. Getting friends for her—that's the challenge."

"I see," Roarke mused. After a few seconds he looked up and smiled. "As I said, at lunchtime I will have all the arrangements in place, and I will inform you and Alison accordingly. Till then, please relax and enjoy yourselves."

"Well, okay," Catherine said, looking dubious but apparently willing to play along. "I look forward to lunchtime, then. Thank you, Mr. Roarke."

When she was gone, Roarke turned to Leslie. "This weekend you will be instrumental in assisting me," he informed her, making her eyes pop. "First of all, tell me: are any of your friends country-music fans? It's best to find out now."

Leslie shook her head. "We know kids who listen to country, but I think most of them live on the Air Force base. None of us follows country music. We know who some of the really big names are, just because they're so famous that you hear about them even if you're not fans. But it's not like we listen to the music or anything like that."

"Good," Roarke said, "that will be extremely helpful. Do this for me, Leslie: go around to your friends' homes and invite them to a birthday party tomorrow. Tell them it's for a new friend of yours, and ask them not to go out of their way to purchase extravagant gifts—merely things you and they might exchange amongst yourselves." Leslie nodded. "You'll have until lunchtime to complete that. Then, after lunch, you'll be Alison's guide to various attractions on the island. Let Alison dictate what you do; after all, from Miss Schultz's words a few minutes ago, it's clear enough that Alison may not have any interest in going to the usual tourist attractions."

"Maybe we can go shopping, or we could walk on the beach, or even rent bikes and ride around for a while," said Leslie. "That might work out. I just hope she's willing to be friends."

"I guess you'll find out then, won't you?" countered Roarke, amused. "I suspect Alison would like very much to have a friend, especially one who isn't afflicted with being starstruck by her parents' identities. You may be just the thing she needs—and since you are only two weeks older than she is, perhaps you two will find a good deal of common ground." He winked at her again. "Go ahead and make the rounds of your friends' homes. Get a bicycle at the rental stand in town, so that you won't have to run from one locale to another, and use this." He opened a desk drawer and handed her a laminated pink card attached to the sort of colorful plastic lanyard Leslie remembered having heard schoolmates in California talk about making at summer camp. "This will identify you to anyone who doesn't yet know you by sight—though you've been here long enough that they probably should by now—and you'll be able to make use of any rental facilities free of charge."

"Do I keep this for good?" Leslie asked.

"Only until everyone on the island is completely familiar with you as my ward. I usually reserve that pass for special circumstances in fantasies, but I won't need it this weekend, so you can use it as needed. When you get back, let me know what your friends say."

Leslie agreed and hurried out the French shutters; the path that led into the jungle from there was a shortcut to the island's only real town, and it wasn't long before she got her bicycle and was on her way. Lauren lived closest to town, so she rode over there first.

"New friend?" Lauren repeated curiously when Leslie explained her mission. "Does she go to our school? Do we know her?"

"No, she's just visiting here for the weekend," Leslie said, trying to sound as natural as possible. Her friends would insist on the whole story on Monday at school anyway, but for now she wanted to avoid all the questions she possibly could. "Mr. Roarke's setting up the party for her, and he said if you get a present, just get something like we'd normally give each other."

Lauren looked doubtful. "Yeah, but we don't know her. How can we get her anything if we don't know what she'd like?"

Leslie realized she was going to have to have a little chat with her guardian. He seemed to know so much, she reflected, but maybe he didn't know all that much about being the guardian of a teenage girl. "Tell you what, let me get back to Mr. Roarke on that and I'll call you later and let you know. For right now, I guess he just wants to know if you guys are free to come to the party."

"Sure, I can come," Lauren said with an amiable shrug. "I know Camille can make it—Mom was talking with Aunt Katie, and she mentioned to my dad that everybody's just taking it easy for the weekend. You'll have to go talk to Michiko and Myeko though."

"That won't be a problem," Leslie agreed. "Like I said, I'll find out all the details from Mr. Roarke and then call you guys later to fill you in. Thanks, Lauren."

"Sure, see you tomorrow," Lauren agreed, and Leslie took her time pedaling the long way around, along the Ring Road where it circled the eastern end of the island through the resort and past the lane where the main house was located, then past the plane dock and the hospital, and another quarter-mile or so west to a small residential development of only three streets where Camille, Myeko and Michiko lived with their families.

Camille and Myeko were sunbathing in the Ichinos' backyard, and perked up when Leslie issued her invitation. "Sounds like fun!" Myeko said cheerfully. "I'll get her a pack of cards so she can play solitaire and stuff when she gets bored."

Leslie nodded, thinking this could be an ideal gift. Camille, however, looked as dubious as her cousin had earlier. "But you said this girl's just here for the weekend—she's somebody we don't know. I mean, seriously, Leslie, do you even know her?"

"A little," Leslie replied, hoping she didn't sound so evasive that she aroused her friend's suspicions. "We're going to hang out together this afternoon. Her name's Alison. Look, like I told Lauren a little while ago, I'll get all the details from Mr. Roarke, and I'll call and let you know."

Camille shrugged. "Yeah, okay, whatever. At least it's something to do. When you do call, give me some present ideas, though, will you? I'm not used to buying stuff for people I've never met."

"I'll try," Leslie said. "Well, thanks, see you guys later."

When she reached the Tokitas' house, she had an unexpected run-in with Michiko's ne'er-do-well brother, Toki, who sneered when he saw her park her bike in the driveway. He was outside shooting baskets into a hoop mounted over the garage door of the huge split-level house. "What're you doing here, anyway?"

"I didn't come here to see you," Leslie shot back, and marched up the front walk to ring the doorbell. Michiko answered, and brightened at sight of Leslie, agreeing immediately when Leslie once more explained what she was up to.

"That'll be fun. Maybe I can round up a few other girls I know at school from choir, and they can come too. What's this girl's name?"

"Alison," Leslie said. "She's just here for the weekend."

Michiko peered at Leslie shrewdly for a moment, then mused, "Sounds like this is for a fantasy. Of course, you'll tell us on Monday, but if she's here just today and tomorrow..." She seemed to sense Leslie's discomfort and smiled. "That's all right. I'm pretty sure Wendy and Greta can make it, and maybe even Donna. I'll call them, and when you call me back with all the details, I'll let you know if they can come."

"Great, thanks, Michiko," Leslie said.

"Are we doing anything special? Having the party at some special place?" Michiko asked.

"No, I don't think so," Leslie replied and shook her head. "It might just be at the main house. I guess it depends on what Alison wants. It probably won't be too complicated." A thought crossed her mind and she hesitated, studying her friend. "Do those girls you know from choir live on Coral Island? From the Air Force base?"

"Wendy and Donna do," Michiko said, nodding. "I'm not sure about Greta, but I think she does too. Any reason?"

"What kind of music do they like?" Leslie asked.

Michiko blinked at her in mild bewilderment. "I don't know—I'm not as close with them as I am with you and Lauren and Myeko and Camille. I just know them from choir. But I guess they like more or less the same stuff we do. I do know Greta and Wendy are really into disco, at least..."

"But not country," persisted Leslie hopefully.

Michiko's patience thinned and she folded her arms over her chest, giving Leslie a stern look. "Okay, Leslie, what's going on? Why does it matter what kind of music they like?"

Leslie's mind raced for several seconds before she stumbled on her answer. "Well, I mean, these girls are from choir, you said...and they might be singing stuff. You know how you go around sometimes, humming songs you like? They probably do that too. And, well, Alison just really hates country music, so, well..."

Michiko eyed her for several long seconds, then offered skeptically, "So if Alison hates country, then she'll pitch a fit if Donna or Wendy or Greta starts singing some country song?"

"Well, she might," Leslie said with a shrug, wishing she had pushed Roarke for more details on this forthcoming party before rushing right out and inviting her friends. "It's just that it's, you know, kind of important." She waited nervously; Michiko's expression didn't change, and Leslie finally gave in slightly. "It's for a fantasy."

It was enough to mollify Michiko. "I sort of thought so, but I wasn't too sure, especially with those crazy questions about music. But I guess this is just another one of Mr. Roarke's eccentric guests that he has sometimes, huh? Okay, I'll call the girls from choir and let you know. And maybe I can even find out what their opinions are of country music."

Leslie grinned sheepishly. "Um, well, if you want to...I guess that might not be a bad idea. Anyway, thanks, Michiko."

On her way back to the main house, she began to get the first squirmy worms of disquiet in her gut. This was going to turn out too much like a kids' book, she thought. One of those three strangers Michiko wanted to bring to Alison's party was going to turn out to be a closet country fan, and in particular a Diamond Fire fanatic, and would recognize Alison the second she saw her. And of course, that would completely ruin Alison's fantasy—or more correctly, Catherine Schultz's fantasy for Alison—and Alison would be upset and probably retreat even farther into her shell, and Miss Schultz would be furious with her and with Mr. Roarke, and probably go home bad-mouthing Fantasy Island to everybody she met. And it would be all Leslie's fault. _I wish I could have told Michiko the whole story!_ she thought, pedaling almost too slowly to keep the bike moving. _If this thing all goes wrong, it's going to be on me, because I'm the one who went hunting for girls to come to the party. Maybe I should've just told Michiko that it's gonna be a small, quiet party._ Another thought broke in then, quieting the squirmy stomach worms somewhat. _She said those three girls live on Coral Island, though. Maybe none of them will be able to come, and I won't have to worry!_

She let out a sigh. Things rarely worked out so fortuitously for her. She could do only so much; she'd have to trust to fate—and maybe her guardian too—to see that everything went the way it should. She almost wished for Luke Endicott's magic carpet to fly her away to someplace quiet and isolated just for the weekend. _Just till Alison's party is over._ Leslie rolled her eyes at herself. _Yeah, right, like_ _that's_ _gonna happen! You just better hope things work out okay!_


	6. Chapter 6

**§ § § - May 19, 1979**

When Leslie parked the bike on the veranda at the main house and went inside, she found the Endicotts there, all four of them this time. Luke was sitting in one of the club chairs, his face aglow with wonder and delight, and Roarke was telling him about his fantasy. He paused when Leslie came in. "Ah, there you are!"

Leslie smiled sheepishly when the Endicotts all turned to stare at her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, abashed.

"It's all right," said Roarke. "Come and sit down. As I was saying, Luke, everything in your fantasy will turn out exactly as you wish. Normally, this doesn't happen for my guests, for their fantasies tend to take twists and turns of their own. But you've merely asked to live out your favorite stories, and that is precisely what you shall do."

"This is great, Mr. Roarke," Luke exclaimed, in a reedy, breathy voice. "Dad's read me those stories all my life. And how'd you know that Aladdin and Ali Baba and Sinbad are my favorites?"

Roarke merely smiled. "We're here to help," he said, "and we'll check on you at least once per story that you're in. It may not always be me; it could be my assistant, Tattoo, or even my ward here, Leslie." He indicated the still-red-faced girl. "There's not a thing to worry about."

"What if I fall asleep, though?" Luke protested. "The stuff they made me get to make the leukemia go away always makes me tired, and I sleep a lot. I don't want to sleep now, 'cause then I'd miss something real exciting!"

Roarke's smile widened and he turned to Leslie. "Leslie, do me a favor and bring me that crystal goblet on the table by the settee," he requested.

She nodded and hopped to her feet, spying the ornate lead-crystal footed stem glass just where her guardian had indicated. It was half full of a brown, translucent, bubbly liquid that looked like cola. Leslie brought it to the desk, and Roarke gestured to the little boy. "Give it to Luke, please."

"What's this stuff?" Luke wanted to know.

"It's a special potion. For this weekend, it will restore your strength and your health, so that you'll feel just as if you never had leukemia. You'll sleep only when you need to, eat whenever you feel hungry. You'll be able to run and jump and swim if you like."

Luke's eyes were the size of 45-RPM records when he finished. "You mean I'll be like a normal kid? Wow, Mr. Roarke!"

"Go ahead and drink it," Roarke directed him, "and when you've emptied the glass, I'll show you your special magic carpet."

Luke's eyes seemed to get even bigger somehow; he nodded vigorously, then grasped the heavy goblet with both scrawny hands and began to chug down the contents while his parents and older sister looked on. He drained the entire glass, then hiccuped and released a burp that made him hunch his shoulders and grin. "Sorry, Mr. Roarke," he said, while his parents tried to hide smiles, and his sister Nicole and Leslie giggled. "It tasted good, though. Like Coke."

Roarke chuckled, then suggested, "Why don't you set the glass here on the desk, and then go to that door by the stairs there." He gestured at the door to the time-travel room.

Luke tipped forward in the chair, plunked the glass onto the desktop, then slid off the seat and had trotted halfway across the room before he realized what he was doing. Gary and Iris Endicott were watching, shocked; even Nicole looked astonished. Luke himself cranked around and cried out to his parents, "Wow, look at me, Mom and Dad—I'm walking around again! You don't have to carry me anymore!"

"I can see that, son," Gary said, his voice unsteady. "That's great!" Iris, too overwhelmed to speak, nodded hard, her eyes spilling over.

Roarke got up, gestured at Leslie, and led a small parade to the time-travel-room door, which he swung open with a flourish. Everyone else slipped in ahead of him; when Leslie had followed them, he brought up the rear and shut the door. The room was bare of any trappings, except for a small rectangular area rug lying on the floor. It bore an intricate, exotic design in reds, creams and golds; there was cream-colored fringe at each of the shorter ends, and a gold tassel sprayed out across the floor from each corner. "That, Luke, is your flying carpet. It will take you wherever you wish to go, anytime you're ready to go. All you have to do right now is sit down on it."

"And then what?" Luke asked.

"Sit down and find out," Roarke replied with an impish look.

Luke tossed a glance back at his parents, who both shooed him onto the carpet, and finally took a seat, crossing his legs lotus-style and fingering one of the tassels. "Do I have to do anything?"

"Ah yes," Roarke said, as if having just been reminded. "There are a few simple directions for using the carpet. When you wish to lift off, just say 'up'. You will then hover, like a helicopter—" he demonstrated with hand gestures as he spoke— "until you say 'go'. If you want to turn, say either 'left' or 'right', and when you get where you want to go, say 'stop'. And to land, say 'down'." He watched Luke nod, then urged, "Try it now."

Luke's grin seemed to stretch all the way around to the back of his neck. "Up!" he cried.

The carpet, with Luke aboard, promptly lifted from the floor, smoother than pudding, and floated still in midair, as if waiting for its young pilot's next command. Luke's eyes popped again. "Wow!" he shouted, thrilled. "This is so cool! Gosh, Mr. Roarke, thanks a gazillion!"

"You're very welcome, Luke," Roarke said, beaming. "Now, all you need to do is tell the carpet to go—and you'll fly straight into your fantasy."

For the first time Luke hesitated, peering around him. "But I'll crash into a wall," he protested.

"Not at all," Roarke assured him. "As soon as you tell the carpet to go forward, the walls will disappear, and you'll be flying."

Luke nodded, looking slightly dubious, but clearly willing to suspend disbelief in the face of what awaited him. "Okay," he said and took a deep breath as if to brace himself. "Go!"

Instantly the room went pitch black, as if they had all been struck blind. From a rapidly increasing distance they heard Luke's gleeful _"Wheeeeeee!"_ before silence descended again and the room lit up once more. Everything was as before, except that Luke and his carpet were gone.

"Oh, wow," murmured Nicole Endicott, speaking for the first time. "I wish I could've gone."

Leslie grinned sympathetically. "Don't feel bad. I do too." Nicole glanced back at her and smiled shyly.

"Well, Luke's off on his adventure," Gary Endicott said, a little too heartily. "I guess that means we can relax."

"Sure you can," Leslie said, nodding. "Luke's completely safe. Mr. Roarke fixed it so that nothing'll happen to him. He's just going to have tons of fun."

"Then I think we should," Iris announced with determination. "It'll give us a chance to just enjoy ourselves...have a normal vacation for a change. What can we do, Mr. Roarke?"

"We have the pool, stables, bicycle and moped rentals, plenty of beaches, and an amusement park, which I'm sure you'll remember having seen when you arrived on the balloon this morning. While the main focus this weekend is on Luke, that doesn't mean you three will be shortchanged. All amenities are on the house; we have a shuttle bus that can take you to the park and the stables should you wish to go, and the normal fee will be waived for you."

Nicole had lit up when he mentioned the park. "Mom, Dad, I want to do the amusement park!"

"I thought you would," Gary remarked, chuckling. "Okay, then, that's where we'll go. Where do we catch the shuttle to get there?"

"Just walk along the lane till you reach the paved road," Roarke advised, "and a bus should be along shortly. Take the one going west along the south side of the island." He made a sweeping motion to indicate the direction. "I will notify the management there that you're on your way."

As soon as Nicole and her parents trooped out the door, Roarke picked up the phone and dialed three digits. "Mr. Scott? How are you? … Fine, thank you. I wanted to notify you that we have three special guests on their way to the park right now; they are to be given free run of the park, all the ride tickets they want, and any food and drinks are on the house. Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Endicott, and their daughter Nicole. Excellent—thank you so much." He hung up and turned to Leslie. "And so...did you succeed in persuading your friends to attend the birthday party tomorrow?"

"Yeah, they're all coming," Leslie said, "but Lauren and Camille both said something about having trouble getting presents for someone they don't know. Myeko said she'd just get Alison a deck of cards, but I don't think the others are too sure what to get her. And Michiko said she's going to ask some girls she knows from choir in school."

"That's very good," Roarke said, then noticed her expression. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, those girls live on Coral Island," Leslie explained. "I'm kind of scared that they might know who Alison is, and ruin the whole thing for her."

Roarke regarded her thoughtfully, then remarked, "You're quite the worrywart, aren't you, Leslie?"

Her mouth dropped open for a second; then she shrugged, making a face. "Yeah, well..."

"I suggest you not think about it till the party," he advised, steering her toward the steps to the foyer. "Right now, your main concern is striking up a friendship with Alison, and you can begin right now, since lunch is about to start."

Leslie realized to her dismay that the squirming worms had reawakened, by the time she and Roarke got to the table and she took her usual chair. Tattoo was there already, talking to Catherine Schultz; Alison Byers was already seated at the table, her head down, staring at her plate. Leslie was vividly reminded of her own first few days on the island, which had been so recent that she was a little embarrassed. She was barely beginning to emerge from her own shell; how could she help pull Alison out of hers?

Tattoo and Catherine both looked up when they arrived, and greeted them warmly; Roarke returned the greeting, while Leslie smiled shyly at Catherine, and they all sat down. "Hello, Alison," Roarke said, as warm and welcoming with her as he had been with her governess. "How do you find Fantasy Island so far?"

Alison's head shot up, as if he had startled her. "Um," she mumbled, then shrugged and let her head tilt forward again.

Catherine's tone was gently stern. "Alison, come on now." She sighed when the girl didn't respond, and turned to Roarke. "She hasn't left the bungalow since we got here, not till I insisted she come with me to have lunch here."

"Well, we wouldn't want her to miss out on anything," Roarke remarked mildly, nodding at Mana'olana, who had just arrived with the serving cart, to begin putting dishes on the table. "After lunch, I'll assign a driver to take her around the island. Leslie will be her guide."

"Oh, that sounds good," Catherine said, looking and sounding overly relieved, as if seizing on this statement as a positive sign. "So Leslie...how did you wind up becoming Mr. Roarke's ward?"

Leslie had already grown tired of having to revisit the story of her life every time a guest asked, but she knew she couldn't expect Roarke and Tattoo to always tell it for her. She had developed a quick summary of her family's fate and tossed it off in about thirty seconds. Catherine shook her head sympathetically. "I'm so sorry. Do you like this island?"

"A lot," said Leslie honestly. "Now that I'm used to it here and all..." She caught Tattoo's look of surprise and shrugged. "Well, you have to get used to _anything_ new."

"Quite true," Roarke agreed. "You should know that yourself, my friend."

"I've been used to this place for so long, it doesn't seem possible that anybody should have to get used to it," Tattoo said. "Anyway, boss, you know how much I love it here. How could anybody _not_ love it here?"

"Give me a little more time, and maybe I'll fulfill your expectations," said Leslie dryly, and Tattoo blinked, while Roarke and Catherine both laughed. Even Alison looked up for the first time without being told to do so, and peered at Leslie with an expression the latter girl couldn't quite read.

The adults carried most of the conversation after that, while Leslie sneaked the occasional peek at Alison and Alison simply concentrated on her plate. Finally the meal ended, and Roarke suggested Leslie and Alison wait there on the porch for the car, which he promised would be around in a few minutes to pick them up. With that, he, Tattoo and Catherine left the girls alone, headed into the study.

Silence reigned for a minute, and Leslie found herself wishing one of her friends were there with them just to break the ice. Alison still wouldn't even look at her, let alone say anything, and Leslie realized with reluctance that she was going to have to make overtures. Her own shyness was nothing, she had to admit, next to Alison's.

"Is there anyplace special you'd like to go?" she ventured.

"No," Alison mumbled, without looking up.

"Well, then maybe we can go to..." Leslie caught herself just before she would have suggested the amusement park, remembering just in time Catherine Schultz's warning about Alison's boredom with them. She cleared her throat and suggested, "How about the beach?"

Alison shrugged, and Leslie sighed, giving up for the moment. She supposed she could understand Alison's lack of response; after what her governess claimed she went through at her school, she probably trusted nobody. As this thought crossed Leslie's mind, she frowned to herself, thinking back once again to her first few days of school here, remembering how little she had trusted anyone—and how much she'd wanted to—and thinking she was fortunate that Michiko had extended the hand of friendship. If not for Michiko, Leslie figured a bit guiltily that she might still be wondering if she would ever have any friends here.

"Um...did Mr. Roarke tell you about the birthday party we're having for you tomorrow?" Leslie asked finally.

That made Alison's head come up sharply, causing Leslie to flinch a little with surprise, and she stared hard at Leslie through her oversized lenses. "A birthday party?" she repeated, her tone incredulous.

"Tomorrow afternoon," said Leslie, nodding. "Your governess said your birthday's tomorrow." She grabbed the subject as one she hoped might break at least some of the ice. "You're only two weeks younger than I am. I turned fourteen on the sixth."

"Oh." Alison's tone seemed subdued and uninterested, and Leslie was just about to resign herself to a long, dull afternoon when Alison suddenly asked in a hesitant voice, "Is...is that really true? About your mom and your sisters, I mean?"

"Yeah," Leslie said. "It really is. Except I gave Miss Schultz the barebones version. It was my lousy, rotten excuse of a father who actually killed Mom and my sisters, and he wanted to kill me, except he got caught in his own trap."

Alison looked genuinely shocked. "Omigod," she breathed. "How come?"

So that was how Leslie found herself relating to Alison the entire detailed story of the night of the fire, and of what had happened in the aftermath that had eventually brought her here to the island, where she had learned the full story of her mother's fantasy. The tale brought them as far as halfway down the southern arm of the Ring Road, where the driver had taken them for lack of direction from Leslie. Alison was astonished when Leslie finished. "Wow. So what's it like to live here?"

"It's turning out to be really cool," Leslie told her. "I've actually got some friends for the first time—well, almost the first time anyway—and Mr. Roarke lets me help out a little with the stuff he does." She grinned, and Alison returned it, in a hopeful, tentative manner that told Leslie that deep down, the girl really did want a true friend, just as she'd suspected.

"That's so cool," Alison said. "Maybe things wouldn't be so bad if I lived here." She watched the scenery slip past for a minute or two. "It's a lot prettier here than in Nashville. Hey..." She turned to Leslie. "What'd you mean, _almost_ the first time?"

"Oh, I had this friend in Connecticut," Leslie explained with a grin. "It was a boy named Spencer Gray. Which I guess is kind of funny. But I mean, seriously, I kind of know where you're coming from. I was the weird kid back in Connecticut. I remember in second grade we had a new girl, and I tried like anything to make friends with her. But she must've been listening to too many of my crummy classmates, because one day she told me to get lost." She watched Alison's face transform into a knowing, resigned mask. "Right after that, Spencer made friends with me. Other kids made fun of him and said he was my boyfriend, which he wasn't."

Alison laughed. "He sounds like a brave guy. You know, hanging out with the class weirdo."

"Yeah, I guess he was," Leslie agreed with a giggle. "I guess maybe he was the only kid in my class who wasn't afraid of my stupid father. I mean, my dad was always chasing off any neighborhood kids who tried to come over and play with us, so they learned really fast to stay away. It kind of happened after the move to California too. I did have this so-called friend on my street there, but after the fire, she had to share her room with me because I was staying with her family till I was able to come here, and she got fed up with me fast. So when I came here, I was sure I wasn't going to have any friends—but I did. I'm still kind of amazed. I have four friends now, and they're all great."

"Lucky you," said Alison wistfully. "I wish I..." She caught herself, turned red and looked away. "Well, never mind."

"Um...have you ever had any friends back in Nashville?" Leslie asked.

"No, never. Not that I didn't want any. But everybody knows who my parents are." Alison's face hardened. "And I'm nothing like either my mom or my dad. They're glamorous and talented, and everybody loves them. Me...I swear they must have adopted me. I can't do anything, and I'm ugly and graceless and the class joke. I actually begged my parents to send me to boarding school last year, but they said no—they wanted my life to be as normal as possible." Alison scowled so fiercely that Leslie drew back a little. "Normal, ha! When you have famous parents, there's no such thing as normal. I'd rather be on my own in a boarding school. Maybe there nobody would know who my parents are."

"I heard boarding schools are lonely and strict," Leslie ventured. "Or at least that's the way they seem to me. And full of snobby rich kids too."

"Can't be any worse than the jerks I go to school with now," Alison commented acidly.

"Do your parents know about them?" Leslie asked.

"I don't know. I haven't told them. Maybe Catherine did, but if she did, they don't listen, or they don't believe it. They don't have a clue what my life is like. They're always touring or making another album or showing up on TV or something." Alison met Leslie's gaze. "I think my fantasy is to be just another kid with plain old ordinary parents who're nobodies. I'd love to know what that would be like. Maybe then I'd have some friends."

At that moment an idea bloomed in Leslie's mind. "Wait a minute." She reached forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Sorry to make you come all this way. But can we turn around? I'll tell you where you can drop us off." The driver nodded agreement.

"What're you doing?" Alison wanted to know.

"I'm going to introduce you to my friends," said Leslie. "Like I said, they're great, and I think you'll like them. They live back that way." She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder while the driver slowed the car to make a three-point turn in the road. "I didn't realize we'd come so far. If we'd kept going we'd probably have ended up at the island amusement park."

Alison groaned and slumped in her seat. "Oh, ugh, another one of those!" She tossed Leslie a hopeful little grin. "I've seen so many of them, so many times, I don't care if I never go to another one as long as I live. So I can't wait to meet your friends."

A little less than ten minutes later, they slid out of the car in front of the street where Camille and Myeko both lived. Leslie knew Camille was into hard rock and some heavy metal, so she would be safe; she wasn't as sure about Myeko, but she had never heard Myeko mention liking country music. It might just be all right. She led Alison down the street to the Ichino house, where now Camille and Myeko had moved their nylon-webbed lounge chairs so that they flanked a small playpen with a couple of quilts padding the bottom. Camille's infant siblings, quadruplets Julianne, Jonathan, Jeremy and Jennette—only about six weeks old—each lay in an infant recliner inside the playpen, over the top of which someone had draped mosquito netting. All four babies were asleep.

Camille and Myeko looked up with surprise when Leslie brought Alison toward them. "Is this your friend you were talking about?" Myeko asked.

"Yeah, this is Alison Byers," Leslie said. "Alison, this is Myeko Sensei, and that's Camille Ichino. The babies are her brothers and sisters."

Alison had been staring at the quads and seemed barely able to take her eyes off them. "Are they all, you know, the same age?"

"Yeah, quads," Camille grumped. "Got stuck babysitting again. It's a miracle I have any kind of social life left. Andrea gets to leave for college in September, which means Tommy and I get even more quad-guard duty." She curled a lip, then followed Alison's gaze to the babies and shrugged. "But I gotta admit, right now they can't do anything, so it's not so bad. It'll get worse."

"How do you know?" Myeko joshed her.

"I saw enough of Sayuri when she was a toddler," Camille retorted. "These guys will be that times four. There's some more chairs on the deck, Leslie, you can just go up and grab one." She gestured toward the house, and Leslie signaled at Alison, who followed her without a word.

Once they were back and sitting, Camille and Myeko both focused on Alison. "So where're you from? Leslie said you're just visiting for the weekend," said Myeko, always the gregarious one.

She drew Alison out by degrees, although Leslie had a feeling that if she herself hadn't managed to break the ice with Alison, the girl might not have spoken at all. Eventually Alison asked who Sayuri was, and Myeko grinned. "Sayuri's my little sister—she's in kindergarten. You have any brothers and sisters?"

Alison reddened and shook her head. "No, it's just me."

"Must be nice," Camille commented, sounding envious. "Nice and quiet."

"It's boring," Alison shot back, surprising Leslie. "If I had any brothers and sisters..." She seemed to rethink what she was saying and caught herself, then cleared her throat. "Well, at least things wouldn't be so quiet. Quiet can be overrated."

"We wouldn't know," Camille said dryly. "But I guess if you want noise, then tomorrow you'll get it. Leslie said you're having a birthday party tomorrow and we've been invited."

Alison's eyes got owlishly wide behind her glasses, and for a second or two Leslie was afraid she would get upset. But then Alison grinned. "No kidding, really? That's great. I never..." She caught herself again, then shrugged. "Well, when you live out in the boonies and don't have any siblings..."

"Tell you what, Michiko and Lauren and I can bring our little brothers and sisters," Myeko offered with a smirk. "That'll make you think twice about wishing you had any." They all laughed, though Alison's giggle was uncertain and Leslie's a trace wistful. "So what do you like to do when you're just hanging out with your friends?"

Leslie could tell from Alison's immediate facial response to this that it was on the tip of her tongue to say something like, _What friends?_ But yet again, Alison censored herself, a bit more smoothly this time. "I read a lot. I like drawing too." Alison's voice was soft and tentative again, as if she were waiting to be ridiculed for such pedestrian pursuits.

"Oh, you're an artist? Do you paint too, or just draw?" Myeko asked with interest.

"Just draw," Alison said, staring at Myeko as if not quite able to believe someone actually wanted to know about her hobby. "But sometimes I color my drawings with colored pencils."

"You any good?" Camille asked.

Leslie gave her a sidewise look of mild annoyance; Camille was blunt by nature, she had learned, but this often translated into an echoing lack of tact. Sure enough, Alison reared back a little, then shrugged and let her head fall forward a little. "Probably not really," she mumbled.

"I bet you are," Leslie said, giving Camille a narrow-eyed look that didn't faze the other girl one bit. "I'd like to see something you drew."

"No you wouldn't," Alison murmured, her head falling farther and farther forward. Myeko was squinting at her in surprise and puzzlement; Camille just looked bewildered, in a sort of impatient way. Before Leslie could come up with anything else to say, they heard a shout, and everyone but Alison looked around to see Michiko jogging into the yard.

"Hi, Michiko," Myeko greeted her. "Did you meet Leslie's new friend yet?"

"Alison," Leslie clarified, gesturing to her.

"Oh, you must be the one Leslie said is here for the weekend. Nice to meet you," Michiko offered. She wasn't quite as gregarious as Myeko, but she wasn't shy either; she was simply a little more self-contained. She stuck out a hand where Alison couldn't avoid seeing it, forcing Alison to shake whether she wanted to or not. Right now, Leslie suspected, Alison probably just wanted to leap from her chair and flee the scene.

"Did you get invited to her birthday party tomorrow too?" Myeko asked.

"Yup, sure did. I was out getting our mail, and I could see your yard across the street and saw all of you back here, so I thought I'd come over. Well, Alison, if you're having a birthday party here on this island, you'll never forget it. We have all kinds of things here to do—you could have a pool party, or one on the beach, or even at the amusement park, if you want." Leslie braced herself in anticipation; but Alison only hitched up one shoulder. Michiko, oblivious, went on: "Whatever you do, it'll be memorable. I'm glad I got a chance to meet you before the party, anyway. I have a favor to ask. Is it all right if I bring my younger sister?"

She paused, and Leslie felt her skin start to crawl on Alison's behalf as the other girl stared into her lap. When no one spoke, Alison finally looked up, pushing her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose, barely making eye contact with Michiko before her mouth twitched in what was evidently supposed to be a smile. "Um, sure," Alison acquiesced finally, her face reddening.

"Great," Michiko said, looking as friendly as ever, and turned to Leslie. "I got hold of Wendy and Greta. They said they'll be glad to come. Donna can't make it, but Reiko can take her place." She smiled a little wryly. "I kind of have to bring her. When Reiko found out I'm going to a party tomorrow, she had a fit about it, and Mama-san finally said I should take her along. But I just thought I should ask Alison's permission, since it's her party."

The girls laughed—again, except for Alison—and Leslie said, "The more the merrier, I guess. But I think it's going to be a quiet party though. Mr. Roarke's going to set it up, so we might be just having it in the yard beside the main house." Her words came out in a rush of relief over Michiko's friend Donna not being able to come. After all, she'd said Wendy and Greta were into disco, which made them safe, in all likelihood. Now all they had to do was get through the party without Camille saying something off-putting, or anybody realizing who Alison really was.


	7. Chapter 7

**§ § § - May 19, 1979**

Leslie didn't get much chance to brood over Alison Byers' birthday party, for late that afternoon Roarke assigned Tattoo to check discreetly on Luke Endicott, and decided to send Leslie along with him. He took her into the time-travel room, whose door opened into what looked like a cave. She could see light leaking around an entrance some distance away from them; there was just enough illumination for her to see it gleaming and glinting off all sorts of gold, or at least golden, items. "Open _sesame,"_ mumbled Tattoo from beside her, and she looked around at him to see that his eyes were huge with wonder and not a little avarice, taking in the vast wealth that lay before them.

Then Leslie remembered: "Oooh, it's the Forty Thieves' cave, isn't it! I just hope we don't get caught in here when the thieves show up. I mean, they outnumber us twenty to one, y'know."

Tattoo scoffed lightly, "Oh, the boss won't let that happen to us, and anyway, I know how to get us out of here. Besides, we're just observers. We're only making sure Luke's having a great time."

"I hope so," mumbled Leslie, searching diligently for something to hide behind in case he turned out to be wrong. She realized then that she was standing atop a small mountain of what looked like nothing but gold coins, and started to back up so she could crouch behind it; she slipped and landed flat on her back atop the coins, blinking, with the wind momentarily knocked out of her.

Tattoo heard her fall and cranked around. "You okay?" he asked, then canted forward as if to see her better, and pointed out, "That's not your money to roll in, you know."

Before she could retort, they heard a voice outside shout, "Open Sesame!" Leslie gasped and began to frantically scoop coins over her body, trying to bury herself in them. Tattoo saw what she was doing and jumped to her side, burrowing into the hill of coins like a mole digging a cavity. Leslie could see he was having more success than she was, and ended up scrambling behind the coins after all, heart pumping and stomach dancing with nerves. She squinted slightly in the increasing light as the door to the cave ground open, and tried in desperation to slow her breathing and remain as still as she could get her trembling body to be.

It became clear in another moment or two, though, that the noise made by forty men milling around and chatting was more than enough to cover any small incidental sounds she made, so she let herself relax to whatever extent she could under the circumstances. She could see Tattoo's nose and one of his eyes peeking out from between coins, watching the thieves and keeping an eye on the open cave entrance. She listened to the various conversations but couldn't make out any of them, and wondered if she could have understood them anyway. Didn't they all speak Arabic, or some variation thereof, after all?

The last few thieves stumped in, four of them lugging what appeared to be an overfilled treasure chest between them. As they staggered deeper into the cave, Leslie noticed that small items kept falling out from under the lid of the chest, which due to its teeming contents wouldn't close properly. Several other thieves noticed it too, and scrambled around picking up the dropped items, clearly afraid of losing them somehow. Leslie pulled her head back behind the coins and out of sight as a few of the men began to turn in her general direction.

Someone shouted, and she heard the chest hit the stone floor of the cave with a bone-crunching thud. She risked another peek in time to see a small avalanche of gold coins and some jewels slide out in a cascade of metallic tinkling, and at least a dozen pairs of hands dug into the windfall, sifting through it with exclamations of greedy awe. She heard a faint whimper from just beside her and saw Tattoo's one visible eye grow huge with covetous wonder. _Figures,_ she thought, wondering whether she should report him to Roarke when they got back.

The same voice shouted again, and the thieves listened to a stream of Arabic before all yelling out something in chorus and trooping out the open cave entrance. "Close Sesame!" hollered the last one out, and once more the cave was sealed off, some sort of stone door grinding ponderously into place and gradually cutting off the light.

Tattoo did, at least, have the sense to wait maybe ten seconds before exploding out of the hill of coins like a startled rabbit, zooming straight for the newly arrived treasure chest. "Look at all this, _zut alors, sacre bleu!"_ he breathed, playing in the booty as a child plays in the water, muttering fervidly to himself in French. Leslie shook her head a couple of times and just sat watching him.

"I hope you're not gonna steal any of this," she said.

Tattoo straightened up and aimed an affronted glare at her. "What kind of rat do you think I am?" he demanded haughtily.

She grinned. "A pack rat...the kind that hoards money."

Tattoo's glare got hotter, but just then they heard a child's voice outside: "Open Sesame!" He scuttled back to their hiding place, though this time he didn't try to bury himself in the money; he just stood waiting for the door to grind its way open once more. Leslie got up as well, relieved to stretch out the kinks that were beginning to cramp her legs, and watched the cave entrance widen, revealing the silhouette of a little boy. Luke Endicott walked in and glanced around, then stopped short and gaped as the full vastness of the treasure registered on him. _"Wooooowwww,"_ he breathed.

"Cool, huh?" Tattoo remarked cheerfully.

Luke started and cranked around, then beamed at sight of him and Leslie. "Gee, Tattoo, it's just like the story!" he exclaimed. "Those forty thieves must've been stealing stuff from everybody for years 'n' years to get this much treasure. Or maybe they were even stealing from the king...or whatever they have in Arabia."

Leslie giggled, and Tattoo grinned and stepped out into the middle of the cave with her behind him. "How's your fantasy going, Luke?"

"Terrific!" the boy exclaimed. "This is the greatest thing ever! I'm having the most fun I ever had in my whole life. You know what? I was just thinkin'...I wish I could take some of the gold money in here. Just a little bit of it—to give to my mom and dad so they could stop worryin' about all the hospital bills. But I guess that's not really allowed, right?"

Tattoo and Leslie looked at each other, and Tattoo reached out and patted Luke's shoulder. "I'll ask the boss. Don't you worry. Right now, you're Ali Baba, and you know how the story goes, right?" Luke nodded eagerly. "So just do what Ali Baba did, and you'll have a great time. Even if something goes wrong, no problem—the boss made it so nothing bad can happen to you. Remember?"

Luke nodded again. "I remember, thanks, Tattoo. I guess that means I better grab some of this money and take it home to Ali Baba's family. Um, I mean, my family. I wish it could be my real family. But this is fun. And I didn't lose my flying carpet."

Tattoo and Leslie both laughed. "We'll tell Mr. Roarke you're being careful with it," Leslie promised him with a grin. "We have to go, but it's great you're having so much fun."

Luke bade them goodbye and started filling his pockets with whatever he could wrap his hands around; while he was engrossed, Tattoo and Leslie started for the back of the cave where they had first come in. A minute or so later, they were back in the time-travel room, and Leslie led the way into the study, where Roarke sat working in a ledger. He looked up as they came in. "How is Luke doing?"

"He's having a blast," Leslie said. "He's just thrilled, and he's perfectly all right. And he said he hasn't lost the magic carpet."

Roarke chuckled, and just then they both heard the unmistakable clink of something small and metallic hitting the floor. They both looked around at Tattoo, who still stood in the doorway between the study and the time-travel room, trying to cover his caught-out expression with round-eyed innocence. "Tattoo..." Roarke said ominously.

"What, boss?" came the reply, all bright and cheery and virtuous.

"Show me what's in your pockets," Roarke ordered.

Instantly Tattoo was all hurt indignation. "Aw, _boss!"_

"Show me," Roarke repeated implacably.

Tattoo's mouth flattened out with disgusted resignation, and he withdrew something from a jacket pocket and opened his palm, displaying about half a dozen gold coins. "Here you go."

"All of it, Tattoo," Roarke prodded, like a parent dealing with a recalcitrant child.

"Oh, really, boss, you can't honestly think I—"

 _"All_ of it," Roarke commanded, raising his voice just enough to make Leslie quail slightly.

A determined look settled across Tattoo's face and he marched across the room, digging into his pocket as he went. He dropped his first handful of coins on Roarke's desk and proceeded to heap up a hillock five inches high, making Leslie gasp and Roarke slowly shake his head. "Tattoo, Tattoo, Tattoo," he murmured.

Tattoo crossed his arms over his chest, the dictionary definition of injured dignity. "I'll have you know that I was holding that for Luke."

Roarke reacted with annoyed skepticism. "Oh, really?"

"That's right! Tell him, Leslie," Tattoo urged, startling her with the suddenness of his appeal to her. Roarke, following his lead, waited expectantly.

Leslie frowned and admitted, "Well, Luke did say he wished he could take some of those gold coins with him so he could give them to his parents and help them pay their hospital bills." She noticed Tattoo's _so there!_ look and added, "But I don't think he was really serious about it. I mean, he knows it's all part of the story, and part of the fantasy, so it wouldn't be the real thing."

"Hm. Well, we'll see," Roarke said, opening a desk drawer and beginning to scoop coins across the polished wood into the drawer while Tattoo watched with all the sorrow of a bereaved widower seeing his wife's grave being filled in. "The weekend isn't over yet. But in the meantime, I..." He cut himself off, then pinned Tattoo with a narrow-eyed, censorious stare. "The necklace too."

"Aw, boss, come _on!"_ Tattoo burst out, but Roarke didn't move, and he at last extracted a gaudy ruby necklace, with stones as big around as cherry tomatoes, from another jacket pocket and pushed it across the desk at Roarke with a longing sigh. "I was holding _that_ for Leslie."

She reared back a step or two and began to sputter under Roarke's surprised regard and Tattoo's self-righteous look, and finally managed to spit out, "But I don't even want it!"

Tattoo's insulted reaction made Roarke laugh despite himself. "It's all right, Leslie. Thank you for helping Tattoo check up on Luke. It's nearly time for supper, so go ahead and get ready for that, and we'll make plans for Alison's birthday party over the meal."

 **§ § § - May 20, 1979**

In the morning Leslie accompanied Roarke, this time, to check on Luke Endicott again. By some quirk of timing, they caught him between stories; he was navigating the carpet like a stunt pilot, steering every which way including straight up and down, doing stomach-churning rolls and loops, trying to rip holes and trails through clouds, and even playing chicken with any number of shocked birds. "Look at him!" Leslie gasped from their own carpet, which Roarke had hovering some distance from Luke while the boy went mad with his trusty little area rug. "He's going nuts!"

"He's a little boy who had a dream," Roarke said gently, without taking his eyes off Luke. "He yearned to do just this, ever since he first listened to the 'Arabian Nights' stories. And he knows he's fully protected within this fantasy, so he's taking all the advantage he can while he has the opportunity to do so."

She remembered then that Roarke had made an explicit promise to Luke's parents that nothing would harm him during this fantasy, and had to smile to herself. Luke was no fool; he'd understood what that meant just as much as she now did, and was making thrilling memories for himself. As she watched him playing games with the birds, she wondered, out of nowhere, if her mother had tried to make memories for her and her sisters. After what she had learned a few months ago when Roarke had helped her break the Hamilton curse, she had found herself looking at various memories in a whole new light ever since then. She conjured up an image of the family photo of herself, her mother, Kelly and Kristy that sat on a bookshelf in her room. _Mom knew she wasn't going to live much longer, and she knew Kristy and Kelly wouldn't either,_ she reflected. _Maybe she meant for me to have that—after all, she said she was getting copies for each of us. She knew what was going to happen. Mr. Roarke said she knew I was going to be the only survivor. Is that why she did that? She said all three of us would get a copy of that picture, but maybe she said that just so I wouldn't wonder what she was talking about or something. She tried to hide it. I wonder why? And I wonder if Luke knows that he's going to die, no matter what the doctors try to do for him?_

Her mind returned to the moment; Luke was still swooping and soaring. "Mr. Roarke, maybe we should tell him he has to go on to the next story if he wants his whole fantasy."

Roarke smiled a little and shook his head, still watching Luke. "It's early morning yet, Leslie. He's already lived through two of the stories, and now all that remains is for him to live out the tale of Aladdin and the magic lamp. That won't take the full day. He can take as much time as he wishes before moving on." He finally turned to her and favored her with a quick wink. "The fact is that, in spite of his delight at taking part in his three favorite 'Arabian Nights' tales, it was really only a bonus. His true fantasy was nothing more and nothing less than having that magic carpet."

Astonished, she let her eyes follow Luke for a few turns around a small puffball of a cloud. "That's it? All he wanted was the flying carpet?"

"That's all," Roarke confirmed.

"Holy cow," she mumbled, while Luke tried to join a flock of birds heading north. "Just the carpet...wow. And yet you gave him all this other stuff, and his family too."

There was something in Roarke's dark eyes, just for that moment, that put her stomach in free-fall. "Yes," he murmured. He went back to watching Luke, falling silent.

Leslie replayed that flash of— _something_ —in his eyes, but only once or twice, before she shuddered and let her own gaze return to the happy little boy. Maybe she would never know what had triggered that look, an expression she couldn't have put a name to if her life had depended on it. But she did know that it was profound, that it had scored her guardian's soul to depths she couldn't even fathom, and it was enough for her to understand why he was doing this with such generosity.

‡ ‡ ‡

Alison Byers' party was scheduled for one o'clock that afternoon; Leslie decided around ten to gather her friends and go on a shopping expedition. Myeko was the only one who had anything in mind for Alison, and bought a pack of playing cards that were backed with photos of various locales around Fantasy Island. Leslie had spent quite a bit of time thinking and had finally decided to give Alison a small pewter medallion bearing the word _friendship_ in ornate script. Michiko, after pondering awhile, settled on a pair of the hand-woven sandals produced by some of the women in one of the villages toward the other end of the island.

Lauren and Camille, though, were still doubtful, although Lauren started getting a few ideas when she saw what Michiko, Myeko and Leslie had gotten. "I was gonna get her a hair clip or something," she mused, "but her hair's too short for that. Maybe if I got her a bracelet?"

"She didn't have any other jewelry on," Camille said. "How d'you know she'd wear a bracelet? Or anything else like that, for that matter?"

Lauren scowled at her, then hit on something. "Wait a minute—I know—one of those really nice souvenir T-shirts that have pictures of flowers or the waterfall on the front. And you shut up," she added, poking her cousin in the collarbone for emphasis. "Not everybody wears jewelry, but everybody wears shirts. Maybe you oughta think about that."

Camille rolled her eyes, but shrugged. "Yeah, well, might as well. I can't think of anything better, and anyway, those shirts are really cool." She chose one with a screen print of the giant waterfall that most guests saw from the plane on their way in. "But this is too girly for me. I heard some guy at school say something the other day about how he's going to design fun T-shirts for this place one of these days, and sell them in the gift shop. T-shirts with smart-alecky sayings or just fun jokes."

"Like what?" Leslie wanted to know.

Camille half-grinned. "Oh, you know...like _I Love Fantasy Island But It Doesn't Love Me._ Or _My Fantasy Is To Be Able To Afford A Trip To The Island._ Stupid things like that." She peered at Leslie curiously. "Whaddaya think Mr. Roarke would think of those?"

"I don't know, but just don't tell that guy that you'll get him in to see Mr. Roarke about them," Leslie retorted, and the other girls laughed. Smirking good-naturedly, Camille bought the shirt, and the girls walked down to the McCormicks' house to wrap their presents, taking longer than they intended to because Lauren's younger brother Adrian pestered them till they wanted to toss him off the nearest cliff. Lauren's mother finally carted him off somewhere else and the girls finished wrapping in peace; by then it was lunchtime, and they ate in the McCormicks' kitchen before heading back to the main house for the party.

"That looks great," Michiko said when they came within sight of the house and the patch of deep-green lawn on one side. Three or four umbrella-shaded tables had been set up, each ringed with three chairs, and another table bore a two-tiered cake frosted in white and rimmed with pink frosting tulips; the words _Happy Birthday Alison_ were written across the top in turquoise icing. The girls piled their presents up around the cake while Mana'olana came out bearing a tray with a large pitcher of mango-pineapple nectar and a stack of clear plastic tumblers.

Just as Roarke and Tattoo emerged from the house, two more girls appeared around the corner of the lane, both bearing wrapped gifts and looking uncertain. Michiko called out, "Wendy, Greta! Come on over and put your presents here next to the cake."

Wendy, whose brown-sugar hair was cut in chin-length, wavy layers, and Greta, a high-cheek-boned, Scandinavian-looking girl with shiny honey-colored curls, followed instructions and both smiled at Leslie when Michiko introduced her. "We see you at school," said Greta. "Is this for your birthday or something?"

"Um, no, mine was two weeks ago," Leslie said. "This is for a different friend. She's just here visiting for the weekend."

"This is really cool," Wendy remarked. She had been gazing around with an expression of slightly uneasy awe. "I never thought I'd see this place up close like that."

Unsure of what to say to that, Leslie was saved from having to reply at all when Roarke came within earshot and greeted all the girls, thanking them for attending the party. One of the other native girls appeared bearing a boom box, and Roarke directed her to another table where she could set it up to play cassette tapes while the girls were enjoying their party. He greeted Wendy and Greta, said hello to Leslie's friends, and added a small gift of his own to the pile around the cake.

Precisely at one, a rover pulled up, and Catherine Schultz and Alison Byers got out. The girls gaped in astonishment at Alison: her hair had been trimmed and reshaped into a flattering bob that tamed her curly waves, and she wore a pretty sundress of ivory spangled with brilliant red hibiscus and green leaves. She even had emerald studs in her earlobes. Leslie hurried over to greet her. "Hi, Alison. Wow, you look great!"

Alison blushed and shrugged. "Miss Schultz did it. She bought me the dress and the haircut as a birthday present. You really think I look okay?"

"You look terrific!" Leslie insisted, for she really thought so. "Come on over here and meet a couple of other girls. This is Wendy Torricelli and Greta Nelson, and you guys, this is Alison Byers."

Alison managed a bashful smile at the two newcomers, then scanned the clearing, wonder dawning on her face. "Whoa. This party's for me? Seriously?"

"Yup," said Leslie. "Just like we said—a regular birthday party."

"This is cool," Alison announced and turned to Leslie. "This is really great. Thanks for doing this, Leslie." Her eyes popped behind the glasses. "Omigod, even a cake!"

"Most birthday parties have cakes," Camille remarked, earning a dirty look from Leslie, who noticed Wendy and Greta looking oddly at each other. Camille shrugged; Lauren and Myeko gave Alison mildly puzzled looks, but no one commented, and in a couple of minutes the party was officially under way.

Alison, they noticed, seemed to revel in all the mundane, ordinary, traditional aspects of a typical birthday party: blowing out the candles on her cake, making a wish, unwrapping her presents and thanking the givers, and even chatting a little here and there, though mostly with Leslie. Tattoo got the boom box going, and a series of pop tunes played in the background, which prompted most of the girls to get to their feet and start dancing in a small cleared area near the tables. Leslie and Alison both sat it out, having discovered that gracelessness on the dance floor was yet another trait they had in common. But they both tapped their feet and sometimes sang with songs they knew.

The girls had sat back down again and were talking animatedly, sipping mango-pineapple nectar, when Tattoo burst from the front door of the house and scuttled down the porch to accost Roarke. "Boss, we've got a surprise coming!"

Leslie, who at the moment happened not to be participating in any of the conversations, overheard and looked around, then got up and joined them. "What surprise?"

Before anyone could say anything else, another rover glided down the lane and halted in front of the fountain; a man and a woman got out of the middle seat, looking around. Then the woman lit up and pointed. "There she is! Alison, honey, we're here! Happy birthday!"

Leslie gasped; when Alison heard her name, she spun around in her chair and then bolted to her feet, a horrified look on her face. "What are _you_ doing here?" she cried.

Tattoo's bright expression collapsed, and Roarke frowned. And, just as Leslie had feared, all the other girls bounded to their feet, their faces wearing identical expressions of starstruck wonder—for, somehow, Alison's parents had managed to show up for their daughter's birthday, and even wearing street clothes, there was no mistaking them for anyone but who they were. "Great," groaned Leslie. "I can see it coming right now. Alison's going to blame me for this." She turned her back on the gathering and covered her face with both hands.


	8. Chapter 8

**§ § § - May 20, 1979**

"We brought you something, Alison," said Adelaide Byers, alias Scarlet Blacke, extending a large, brightly wrapped box at Alison while Roarke looked on. "We hope you'll like it!"

There seemed to be nothing more Alison could do than to accept the box, remove the gaudily beribboned bow and tear away the wrapping paper, extracting several national costumes from assorted European countries. Leslie moved slightly and Roarke's attention shifted to her; she peeked between her fingers to take in the scene. But Roarke knew she wasn't focusing on Alison's gift; she was taking in the reactions of her friends and the other two party guests. All six girls were clearly stricken speechless with awe at being in the presence of showbiz royalty. She moaned softly and turned away again, mumbling behind her hands, "Alison's going to hate me forever."

"Well, she doesn't exactly look thrilled, but I don't think she's gonna hate you," Tattoo said, as if surprised.

"You don't understand," Leslie hissed frantically at him, making him rear back slightly with wide eyes. "She can't show it in front of them, but as soon as she gets a chance, she's going to call me every single name in the book. I promise you she will. You just wait and see."

"Those are so beautiful!" blurted Michiko all of a sudden from behind her, and this time Leslie reluctantly joined Roarke and Tattoo in looking on. "What countries do they come from?"

Mortimer "Tim" Byers, otherwise and more widely known as Blaze Blacke, beamed and lifted each costume from the edge of the box where Alison had draped them, naming the countries they came from and telling a little bit about them. Alison watched; Leslie couldn't quite decipher her expression, but she could see that Tattoo was right about her not looking thrilled. She wrapped her arms around herself and waited miserably while Blaze Blacke finished talking about the costumes and then turned and hugged Alison. "I'm glad Catherine brought you here, hon. Looks like you've made some new friends, and I can see Mr. Roarke and Tattoo are taking good care of you."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Alison said flatly, and Leslie hung her head. The birthday girl turned to the others and muttered bitterly, "I guess you all want autographs. Go ahead, you might as well." She proceeded to stalk out of the clearing, brushing past Leslie as if the latter girl weren't even there; and Leslie herself couldn't bear it anymore. Feeling like a complete failure, she took to her heels, racing into the house and upstairs to her room.

After a little while, no more than perhaps ten minutes, Tattoo came up and tapped on her door before asking, "You okay? The boss wanted me to take you with me to check up on Luke Endicott one more time."

 _Anything to escape,_ Leslie thought, and agreed, nearly crowding Tattoo out of the way as he pushed open the door to the time-travel room. They stayed long enough to watch Luke, in the "role" of Aladdin, summon the genie from the magic lamp; the boy watched with stunned delight as the genie materialized in the air and boomed out a greeting. Leslie sighed and mumbled, "I wish I had a genie to give me three wishes. My first one would be to become invisible."

Tattoo peered at her, then clucked his tongue a few times. "You know that's no solution, Leslie."

"It would be for the rest of the day," she retorted. "Just till Alison Byers goes home."

Tattoo cast one more concerned glance toward Luke, but it was clear he was doing fine, so he took Leslie's arm and brought her back through the time-travel room and into the study. "You're taking the blame for what happened, for no good reason," Tattoo said. "You're not the one who got in touch with Scarlet and Blaze Blacke and told them to come here, were you?"

"No, but who did? Was it Mr. Roarke?" Leslie wanted to know.

"It wasn't anybody," Tattoo said, shaking his head and looking solemn. "They came here themselves. No one told them or even asked them to. They just did it."

"Well, Alison'll still blame me," Leslie insisted. "We'd kind of started bonding because we've both dealt with bullies in school. And I told her I understood she just wanted a plain old regular birthday party with friends attending it—people who didn't know whose daughter she is. And she was having it, too, till her parents showed up. What happened? I thought they were on tour in Europe!"

"They are," Tattoo said. "The boss told me. He said they'd been saving this visit as a surprise for Alison. They had this planned, and Miss Schultz had something else planned, and it just looks like everything clashed."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Leslie agreed glumly. "Where's Mr. Roarke?"

"Talking to Alison," said Tattoo. "He'll tell her it's not your fault and she shouldn't blame you. Oh, and by the way, I think your friends are wondering where you went." He gestured to the window, where Leslie's friends and the other two girls from school were standing in a loose huddle, talking to one another. Frequently one of the girls would glance around as if waiting for something.

Leslie blew out her breath. "I guess I have to go explain now. Will you help me, please?"

"I'll come with you, sure, but I don't think you should worry so much." Tattoo winked at her, solemn as ever, then gestured toward the foyer. She sighed again and plodded reluctantly across the room and out the door.

As soon as she stepped out onto the porch, her friends saw her. "Leslie, geez, what happened to you?" Camille yelled. "And what the heck's the thing with Alison?"

"Are her parents really Blaze and Scarlet Blacke?" Wendy exclaimed, actually sounding breathless. "I mean, wow! What a life she must have!"

"Yeah, I gotta agree with that," Lauren remarked, grinning.

"I wish somebody'd show up and bring me goodies like that at my birthday party," said Myeko enviously. "I love those costumes. And having parents who can just shower stuff like that on you..."

"You can say that again," Greta chimed in.

"Come down here and tell us about it, Leslie," Michiko urged. "We're dying of curiosity."

Leslie gave up and trudged across the porch, down the steps and into the yard. "You guys...it's not as great as it looks. Alison's governess brought here here because she had a fantasy for Alison—to give her some confidence and optimism. I thought...well, see, Alison and I started talking..." She explained the entire story to the other girls, who listened intently, glancing at one another now and then.

When she finished, Michiko shook her head. "What a life! And what kind of stupid kids make fun of someone when she can't help who her parents are?" For some reason Wendy, Greta, Camille and even Myeko turned red; Lauren nodded agreement with Michiko. "So okay, I see what's going on here, but why did you run off like that?"

"Because I figured Alison would decide I must've arranged to have her parents come here for her birthday party and give away her secret, so she'd blame me for ruining her party," said Leslie.

Lauren snorted, pushing her hair back over her shoulder. "Well, I tell you what, she was mad when she stomped out of here all right, but I don't think you're the one she was mad at. The whole time Blaze Blacke was talking about the costumes, Alison was standing there glaring at him or at her mom. She didn't look at you even once."

"That doesn't mean anything," Leslie argued. "She walked right by me and wouldn't even look at me when she did."

"She wouldn't look at anybody else either," parried Michiko. "Leslie, really, what's with you? Do you _want_ to be the one to blame or something?"

Stung, Leslie protested, "Of course not! It's just that...well, that's just the way it works. It's the kind of dumb luck I always have." _It's what my stupid father used to do,_ she didn't say, mostly because of the presence of Wendy and Greta. _If anything went wrong, the twins and I got the blame for it whether it was our fault or not._ She threw a pleading glance at Tattoo, but he was wearing that sphinxlike expression she had begun to really hate.

"Geez, Leslie," said Camille, rolling her eyes. "Not everything bad that happens is your fault. Maybe you oughta talk to Alison about it."

"If _she_ still wants to talk to _me,"_ Leslie muttered.

"She might," Myeko said, and Leslie noticed that her focus was on something somewhere behind her. She turned and saw Roarke approaching with Alison at his side, and bit her lip, watching them coming along the lane and into the yard.

"Hi, Leslie," Alison said and smiled apologetically. "Sorry I ran out on the party like I did."

Startled, Leslie blinked at her. "But I...I mean, I left right after you did. I thought..."

"You thought I was gonna blame you when my parents showed up?" Alison asked, and Leslie nodded. "Naah, I knew it wasn't you." She blushed and flicked Roarke a sheepish, furtive half-second peek over the tops of her glasses. "Actually, at first I blamed Mr. Roarke."

"Why?" asked Myeko before she thought.

Alison shrugged. "Well, I mean, he runs the island and all that, and, well...I just figured he must've arranged it so my parents would come here for my birthday. You know how adults are, thinking they know what's best for kids all the time." The girls all snickered as Roarke's brows popped up with amusement and Tattoo put on a mask of exaggerated affrontery. "Anyway, he told me it wasn't anything like that. See...what happened was that my governess, Miss Schultz, wanted a fantasy for me. I guess she was hoping maybe I'd make friends for the first time ever. And my parents said yeah, go ahead and bring me here to Fantasy Island. So she did—but Mom and Dad didn't tell her they were planning to secretly ditch the tour for a couple days so they could fly here and be with me on my birthday. It wasn't Mr. Roarke's fault or even Miss Schultz's fault, and it sure as heck wasn't yours, so I'm not mad at you." She shook her head. "It's my parents I'm mad at."

"Alison," Roarke said gently, "remember what we discussed."

Alison's mouth twisted, and Leslie peered up at her guardian. "What _did_ you discuss?"

"That's for later," said Roarke. "Ladies...I presume you all enjoyed the party."

"We did," said Greta with enthusiasm. "Never thought I'd get to meet Blaze and Scarlet Blacke though. That was a really cool bonus."

"Thanks for saying we could get their autographs, Alison," Wendy put in, brandishing a signed party napkin. "That was really nice of you. And seriously, happy birthday."

"Yeah, it was cool," said Camille, "and I don't even like country music." The girls laughed.

Only Alison remained sour-faced. "Yeah, well, that's the whole point. When people look at me, they don't see _me._ They see Blaze and Scarlet Blacke's kid. Most people I know back home...the dumb hicks I go to school with...well, they make fun of me about it. Some of the things they say—they think there's no way a plain, ugly, klutzy nothing like me could be _their_ daughter. And kids who don't make fun of me, well, once they find out who I am, all they want is for me to get my parents' autographs for them, or free records, or free concert tickets. A couple of guys I go to school with even tried to make me get them an audition with my parents so they could suddenly start fabulous careers as child-prodigy musical geniuses. And when I wouldn't do any of that, they all got mean, and never let me forget it. The only reason anybody cares about hanging out with me is so they can get to my parents. I'm sick of it like you wouldn't believe."

The girls looked at one another in surprise and some shame. "Wow," murmured Greta.

"Holy paradise," Lauren said, "it's really like that for you? Can't you just change schools and go someplace where nobody knows who you are?"

"That was the idea behind this weekend and this birthday party," Alison told her. "And it was working, too. None of you, except Leslie, knew who I really was, and I actually felt like a normal kid for a change—a normal kid who could have actual, real, honest-to-god friends." Her face grew stony. "And then my parents barged in and spoiled the whole thing."

"Never mind your parents, though," Lauren said. "Like I said, can't you change schools?"

"Of course not," Alison said with a curled lip. "My parents want me to have as normal a life as possible, so I go to the public junior-high school in our district. Yeah, _right._ What's so normal about being hated and bullied by every single kid in your grade, and having no friends at all?"

"Cripes," Myeko said, disgusted. "Even a boarding school's better than that. Did you ask your mom and dad about one of those, maybe? I mean, they're isolated and all that, and full of rich snobs, but at least nobody'd know who you are."

"I've asked about that, but they won't do it," said Alison. "So that's out." She eyed the girls and admitted, "You're the first people my age that I've met who actually look past the part of me about my famous parents. Leslie was really the first one, yesterday. I didn't realize she got bullied almost as much as I did."

"It's too bad you couldn't go to school here," said Michiko.

Alison sighed. "I wish. Even if my parents said yes, Mr. Roarke'd probably say no."

"That's up to your parents, Alison," Roarke said, "but should they decide to transfer their home base here to the island, at least while they are out on tour, I would be more than willing to work out something with them. However, it occurs to me that perhaps they, and your governess, are hoping that you might realize that not everyone wants to use you to get to your parents."

"They do at my school back home," Alison riposted. "And there's nothing I can do about that. I'm stuck with that school and those kids."

"Then you'll just have to learn to stand up to them," Tattoo said. "And I think Leslie and her friends here might be able to help you, if you'd like them to."

Alison looked a little doubtful, but she shrugged. "Well, I guess if they can see me instead of who my parents are, anything's possible." Everyone laughed, and she offered a quirky little half-smile that reinforced her skepticism; but Leslie was sure that several heads were far better than just one, and had high hopes for success.

‡ ‡ ‡

A little after four-thirty, Roarke arose from his desk to go to the time-travel room and bring Luke Endicott out of his fantasy. He was halfway across the room when Leslie burst in, her face bright. He smiled broadly at her. "There you are! How did it go with Alison?"

"We gave her all kinds of great ideas," Leslie said. "I didn't have a whole lot of them myself, but my friends did, and even though Wendy and Greta had to leave early to get back to Coral Island, they were still able to stay long enough to give Alison some ideas too. One of Greta's was that Alison should keep that makeover Miss Schultz gave her for her birthday, and try getting contact lenses too, if she can. And if not, at least get more stylish glasses. But Michiko and I especially knew that just changing her looks isn't gonna solve everything. So we did a lot of brainstorming, and gave Alison a huge list, and finally I thought she ought to just let her parents know what she's going through. She said they don't know. If she tells them, maybe she won't even need our list, because then they could make some serious changes for her."

Roarke smiled. "I look forward to hearing the solution, then. For now, why don't you come with me? It's just about time to bring back Luke Endicott; it's better that we do so now, since the potion I gave him yesterday won't last much longer."

Leslie's face fell as she followed him into the time-travel room. "It's a shame. I mean, he's a great little kid. Mr. Roarke..." She hesitated, aware of his eyes on her, unsure she should ask—but in the end her curiosity wouldn't be reined in. "Why do the good ones always die young?"

Roarke was silent for a moment or two; then he smiled a little and smoothed back her hair. "In the end, child, that's really only a saying. Death requires no criteria. Perhaps it seems that only the good die young, as the saying goes, because facing one's mortality often causes a great change in attitude, in one's fundamental outlook on life and those they share it with. Most of the time, that change is for the better. Despite the great price it seems to exact, it can't be denied that such a change in attitude benefits not only the attitude holder, but all those around that person."

"That makes sense," Leslie murmured. "I wonder if Mom had that."

"She had it before she knew," Roarke assured her gently. "With your mother, it was merely magnified. Knowing what would happen to her, and to you, gave her the chance to try to prepare for it, to leave you with as many pleasant memories as she could make for you, given the limitations put forth by your father. And some of those preparations, while they may have seemed unremarkable at the time, turned out to be the sort of tangible mementos that will help you keep those memories alive."

"Like the picture of me and Mom and the twins that I have in my room," Leslie offered.

"Exactly. That photo will allow you to keep them alive in your mind, to picture them just as they looked in your memories. I realize that at times, those reminders may bring on sadness at your loss—but as the years pass, my dear Leslie, they will become cherished treasures, and one day you'll share them with your own family." He smiled at her, then turned to face the far wall. "I believe he is about to come back."

No more than five seconds later, Luke and his magic carpet floated in, right through the wall somehow, and Luke called out, "Stop." As soon as the carpet halted, he added, "Down," and the little rug sank to the floor in a perfect soft landing. The boy gazed up at Roarke with a wistful smile. "This was the best fantasy in the whole world. You're the greatest, Mr. Roarke. I just wish I could have it for a little longer."

"Your parents might start to miss you," Roarke teased.

"Yeah, maybe they would," Luke allowed with a shrug. "But I still wish it didn't have to end." He fiddled with one of the tassels at the corners, then said hopefully, "Up?" The rug didn't move, and he sighed and got up, stepping onto the wooden floor. "Oh well."

Roarke laughed and ushered both Luke and Leslie out of the room; they could see the potion wearing off even as the boy crossed the room, and by the time he flopped into a chair, he looked weary, though still happy. "Wow, I'm beat. I guess all those adventures'll really make you tired."

"I expect so," chuckled Roarke, picking up the phone and calling the Endicotts' bungalow. They arrived within ten minutes, asking Luke about his fantasy and listening avidly while he regaled them with tales of his adventures.

"But you know what the best thing of all was?" Luke asked. "It was the flying carpet. 'Cause see, I was gonna be a pilot when I grew up." As he said this, he included Roarke, Leslie, and Tattoo, who had come in along with the other Endicotts. "I always figured I'd get a chance to fly a plane and see what it was like up in the clouds. And then the doctors told me I prob'ly won't get to grow up." He shrugged in a matter-of-fact manner, but the slight droop of his head and the softness of his voice told them he was more affected by this than he wanted to let on. "And I mean, it was really fun flying here all the way from home, and it'll be fun flying back too, but I wanted to be the pilot. Just once, I wanted to be driving the plane and not just riding in it. And wow, did I ever." At this his head came up and he looked at Roarke with shining eyes. "And that's 'cause you did it for me. It was fun bein' Sinbad and Ali Baba and Aladdin, but the flying carpet was the best part of the whole fantasy, 'cause I finally got to be a pilot like I wanted to. So I want to tell you thanks a gazillion." He stretched out his arms. "Can I hug you too, Mr. Roarke?"

"You certainly can," Roarke agreed with a broad smile, and arose from his desk, going around to Luke's chair and accepting—and returning—the boy's hug. Luke's parents were both trying, with little success, to stanch their tears; Tattoo wasn't even bothering, just standing there wearing a wistful little smile while his eyes overflowed. Leslie felt hers begin to sting a little and tried to swallow down the drumlin in her throat, thinking back once more to her own mother and sending up a few silent thanks of her own.

 **§ § § - May 21, 1979**

They watched the Endicotts make their way across the green toward the balloon, with Gary carrying his fragile son. Tattoo whisked the black handkerchief from his jacket pocket, mopping at his eyes again. "What a terrific kid," he said, his French accent even thicker for his emotion. "It's not fair, boss, not fair at all."

"No, it isn't," Roarke agreed, his voice distant. "But if the world were fair, I wouldn't have the job I do, for there would be no need for it."

"But you're kind of fighting the unfairness, I think," Leslie ventured, making both her guardian and his assistant turn to stare at her with interest. "Even if Luke never gets to walk around on his own again, he'll never forget this weekend, and all the fun he had." She met Roarke's gaze and added bashfully, "I'm so glad I get to be a part of this—thanks for that, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke smiled and slipped his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her fondly and releasing her just as the second rover came around with Alison, her parents and Catherine Schultz. "So," Roarke said when they had all stepped out of the car, "has this weekend been a good one for you, Alison?"

"Well, it must be good if I made some new friends," Alison remarked and grinned at Leslie. "Thanks for being my friend, Leslie. When Miss Schultz told me we were coming here, I thought it was just gonna be a big fat bore. But I got to hang out with you and some other girls who actually like me for me, and it turned out to be super-cool."

"Not only that," said her mother, "but we're going to pull her out of that school and take her on the rest of the tour with us. Catherine's going to be her tutor while we finish the European tour, and then when we get back, we're going to sell the mansion we live in now and buy a house out in the countryside. And Tim and I are going to cut way back on our work with Diamond Fire. We've been going strong for almost a decade and a half, and we have pretty much all the money we need to live comfortably till Alison's got her own family someday. We'll have to discuss it with the others in the band, but the plan is to retire from touring and just make occasional special appearances here and there, and be a studio group from now on. That way we get to spend more time with our daughter."

"We may even come back here later this summer for a rest," added Tim Byers, alias Blaze Blacke. "I think we've earned it."

"You'll be welcome," Roarke said warmly. "Congratulations and good luck—and once again, Alison, happy birthday."

They had waved the foursome away to the balloon when Tattoo let out a squawk and shot up to his full four feet. "Oh no! I can't believe it! How could I be so stupid?!"

He looked so shocked and horrified that Roarke and Leslie turned to him in alarm. "What's wrong, my friend?" Roarke exclaimed.

"I completely forgot to get their autographs!" Tattoo moaned. Leslie snickered in resignation, and Roarke awarded him a supremely dirty look before the calls of farewell from the balloon diverted his attention.

 **§ § § - June 2, 2012**

"Did you ever get their autographs, my Rose?" Christian teased.

Leslie laughed. "Later that summer, yes, but it was actually cooler for me getting to hang out with Alison for the month they were here. Her parents ended up retiring from Diamond Fire a few years later, but by then they were all set for life. I like to think Alison did whatever it was she dreamed of doing and was a great success at it." She drew in a breath and sat back. "The year Lawrence was with us, we had at least a couple of fantasies that involved kids—if I remember right, in fact, they were on consecutive weekends."

"Oh?" said Christian.

"Wait, Mother," Karina broke in. "You said you'd tell us about your mother and your sisters."

Christian and Roarke both eyed Leslie, who smiled a little. "I know, honey. But I think we'd better wait till our last story before I do that. And how many more stories do you kids want us to tell you before we run out of time?"

"A whole bunch," Tobias said immediately.

"I want to hear about your mom and sisters too," Susanna said, "but I want to hear the stories. I want to hear all of it. And we get to, right? I mean, it _is_ our birthday."

"You are a little conniver," Christian informed her, wagging an index finger at her, but with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. "Don't push your luck, birthday or not."

Roarke laughed. "Perhaps we should move to the living room where we'll be more comfortable while we tell you children these tales. I'm sure your parents wouldn't mind cleaning away the breakfast dishes and relaxing a bit."

Christian and Leslie talked the triplets into helping them clear the table; Anastasia, with her aversion to being left out of anything, pitched right in once she saw all three of her older siblings were helping out. As a result it took less than ten minutes for the kitchen to be cleaned and everyone to have moved into the living room; Leslie brought out a pitcher of Lilla Jordsö's signature summer drink, cherry seltzer, and some glasses, and soon she and Roarke were back in the storytelling game. "So there was this woman who wanted to be..." Leslie hesitated a moment, eyeing the kids, then peered at Roarke. "Remember the would-be swinger, Father? The one with the little kids who had no idea what their mother really wanted while they were here?"

Roarke chuckled. "I do indeed. But was that fantasy your choice or Lawrence's?"

"I thought it was yours," Leslie riposted.

"What's a swinger?" asked Susanna.

Christian cleared his throat. "Are you telling us about this only because there were children involved, for fate's sake?"

Leslie grinned sheepishly. "Well, let's put it this way. We had to tiptoe around it for the woman's kids too. And you can just imagine straitlaced Lawrence's reaction."

"What's a swinger?" Susanna demanded again.

"Something that was very big in the 60s and 70s, for the most part," said Leslie, "and something that only some very silly grownups wanted to do. Let's just say it means someone who wants to go out with lots of different people. If you guys want to hear this, you need to sit down and listen."

Christian grunted. "I'm not sure I want them to hear it. I seem to recall your observation that there were some very...shall we say, _adult_...fantasies during Lawrence's tenure as assistant."

"So it seems at first glance," Roarke agreed, "but—as Lawrence and Leslie agreed for one of the very few times they saw eye-to-eye on anything—everyone deserves a fantasy. And, however odd it may have seemed, these guests did as well..."

 **§ § § - December 3, 1983**

The first person out of the seaplane's hatch on the first Saturday of the month was a white-haired fellow decked out like the captain of a yacht. "Sir, that man—" Lawrence began. "Something about him reminds me of the man in your Picasso painting."

"That's because Mr. Nikolos Karavatsos is that man," Roarke explained simply.

That, Leslie saw, impressed the usually unflappable Lawrence. "Karavatsos? The shipping tycoon?"

"Yes," confirmed Roarke.

"Hm, I am impressed," Lawrence remarked. "But what would a man worth billions want with a fantasy? Surely not more billions."

"As a matter of fact, quite the opposite is true," Roarke informed him.

"Are you saying he wants to give his money away?" queried Lawrence.

Leslie grinned. "Too bad Tattoo isn't here. You know he'd volunteer to be the first one to relieve this guy of a nice fat chunk of change."

Roarke chuckled and agreed, "I expect he would. However, in this case—if certain conditions can be met, yes, that's Mr. Karavatsos' fantasy. He wants to find people who desperately need help, so that he can use his vast wealth and influence to change their lives for the better."

"Impressive," Leslie said, and Roarke smiled at her, nodding before turning his attention to the plane again. This time two children—a dark-haired boy and a blonde little girl—emerged, followed by a woman as blonde as her daughter. "Don't tell me I'll be babysitting."

"What, you wouldn't like to earn a little extra spending money?" Roarke teased, and she rolled her eyes; he chuckled.

"Well, now, that's something I like to see," Lawrence said brightly. "A typical happy family."

"Really? Look again," said Roarke, sobering at speed.

Lawrence eyed them, and his smile vanished. "Oh. I see what you mean."

"No father," Leslie put in. "So what happened to him?"

"Unfortunately, single-parent families are most visible in today's society," Roarke said. "Mrs. Ashley is divorced and has the sole responsibility of caring for her daughter Jane and her son Michael."

"I'll bet she has her hands full with those two," Lawrence noted a bit direly.

"But she's probably a great mother," Leslie spoke up. "Devotes her life to her kids and that kind of thing—right?"

Roarke nodded, but went on, "For the first time since they were born, the welfare of her children is not foremost in Mrs. Ashley's mind. Her fantasy is to become...what she has never been before." Roarke's face took on a distinctly amused look.

Lawrence had a look about him of someone bracing for bad news. "And what is that, sir?" he inquired, apparently in spite of himself. Leslie, too, had an odd feeling; there had been so many fantasies since September that had fallen outside her comfort zone, she was sure this one wouldn't be any different.

And as it happened, she was right, for Roarke said, "A swinger."

Leslie swallowed a groan, and Lawrence's eyes popped. "A _swinger?"_ he asked, nearly whispering, as if the woman had asked to commit a murder over the weekend.

"A swinger," said Roarke in a very matter-of-fact way.

"Well, sir," Lawrence commented, visibly pulling himself together, "I suppose that won't tax your awesome capabilities."

"No...not if Mrs. Ashley is prepared to sacrifice her most precious possession," Roarke said softly. "Her children."

Leslie wanted to protest that maybe that was a bit severe even for a strange fantasy like that, but before she could speak, a native girl brought Roarke the champagne glass with which he proceeded to toast his latest guests and welcome them to the island. She peered at Jane and Michael Ashley—neither of whom appeared to have seen their tenth birthdays yet—and found herself wondering who was going to explain their mother's fantasy to them. _Probably me,_ she reflected gloomily.


	9. Chapter 9

**§ § § - December 3, 1983**

They made it back to the main house only minutes before Nikolos Karabatsos got there, and the moment he stepped into the inner foyer, he spied the portrait of himself that Roarke had hung on the wall. Without bothering to greet anyone, he promptly launched into a tirade about how much he hated the painting and how terrible it was. "Roarke, you may think that portrait of me is great art, but I think it is world-class _garbage!"_ he announced. Roarke simply looked mildly amused; Lawrence, pouring drinks, looked on with interested surprise. "I am sorry I donated it to your collection! Look at the joke he is having...he makes me look like a skirt-chasing lecher!"

"Oh, come, come now, Mr. Karabatsos...since you are famous, and you make others fear your business tactics, would you have a great artist lie?" inquired Roarke, handing Karabatsos a glass as he spoke.

"If I may, sir," Lawrence ventured then, and they all turned to him. "In my opinion, that portrait is a remarkably fine example of Picasso's late Cubist period."

"Well, I'm not talking about Cubism; I'm talking about Pablo laughing at me from the grave," declared Karabatsos as he wandered toward one of the chairs in front of Roarke's desk. "But, as it turns out, I will have the last laugh." He leaned against the front of the desk, where Leslie sat sorting out mail and watching the three men. Karabatsos intimidated her in a way she didn't like. "My doctors," the tycoon continued, "tell me I will be meeting up with Pablo again very soon."

Leslie stared at the back of Karabatsos' head; even Roarke looked taken aback. "Oh?"

"And whether it's in heaven or in hell," Karabatsos went relentlessly on, "when I do, I'm going to punch that little joker right in his Spanish nose."

Roarke asked in low-voiced concern, "Does that mean your doctors have given up hope?"

"Accch, you know how doctors are; they never make their death sentences definitive. They tell you things such as, uh, _Don't make any plans for next year."_

Roarke's only response to this black humor was, "Indeed!" Slowly he sat down in the chair beside which he had been standing. "Is that all they give you?"

"Or maybe less, unless I adhere to my diet. I've cut down to six shots of ouzo a day." Karabatsos shot Roarke a wry little smile as Lawrence approached him with a tray. Leslie, though at eighteen legally old enough to drink, had never been offered any alcoholic beverages alongside the guests, any more than Tattoo ever had; but she rarely minded being left out, unless the libation in question was champagne or white wine.

Lawrence remarked, "It seems to me, sir, that if you wish to help others by giving away your money, then donating it to charity would be less taxing on your health."

Karabatsos was unmoved. "I've already supported all the worthy _and_ phony charities around; no, just writing a check won't satisfy me now. I want to be involved—but I must remain in the background, understood?"

"Then you still insist on keeping your identity a secret?" Roarke asked.

"I'm not opposed to hogging all the credit I can get," Karabatsos replied, in that haughty tone that Leslie imagined came as naturally to him as breathing or blinking. "But the name of Karabatsos might make it difficult to wade through the fakes and frauds, in order to discover someone who is truly deserving of help."

"Yes," Roarke mused, his gaze sharpening. "Which brings us to your request for a suitable candidate for the job of...how did you put it..." He frowned, as if trying to remember. "...of being your front man."

"Have you found one?" asked Karabatsos.

Roarke nodded. "Yes, I believe I have." He stood up so that he and Karabatsos were eye to eye. "And when you meet him, I think you're in for a surprise."

Leslie found herself thinking, _What're the chances Mr. Roarke dug up some long-lost son of this guy, or some other relative he barely knows he has?_ She didn't bother voicing this, figuring she was probably wrong, but she did sneak a peek at Lawrence, whose own expression was as curious as she felt. Roarke added, "I'll take you to him in exactly thirty minutes."

Karabatsos agreed, and he and Roarke toasted each other in Greek before the tycoon threw back his drink all in one shot. Roarke, who had barely sipped from his own glass of white wine, watched him with that inscrutable look that Leslie had grown accustomed to—if not exactly fond of—in her four and a half years of being his ward, and now his daughter.

Karabatsos then left the house without another word, though he did cast one final disgusted glance at the painting on his way out; Roarke eyed his wine, then met Leslie's gaze and handed the glass to Lawrence. "Well, young lady, suppose you come along with me to speak with Mrs. Ashley; Lawrence will handle any phone calls, and he can set the table there for lunch." He indicated the small round table from where Lawrence had been serving the drinks and hors d'oeuvres. "You may wish to learn her story, after your reaction at the plane dock."

"If you'd be so kind, sir, I wouldn't mind hearing her story as well," Lawrence remarked, lifting the hors d'oeuvres tray that he'd set atop the desk after offering it to Karabatsos. "She seemed such a sweet woman, and quite happy with her children—for someone like that to want to become a _swinger_ , of all things—" he actually performed a visible shudder— "simply boggles the mind."

Roarke chuckled. "I'm certain it does. Well, then...Leslie?"

Less than ten minutes later, Roarke and Elaine Ashley were strolling along a brick-paved walk through a high arched tunnel of trellises bearing colorful tropical flowers of a dozen or more species. "So you really want to be a...a swinger?" Leslie asked, unable to hold in her disbelief.

Elaine Ashley laughed self-consciously. "I guess I'm late to the sexual revolution, but yes. I hope I can make you understand my problem, Mr. Roarke."

"Well, I'll certainly try, Mrs. Ashley," Roarke replied, effortlessly diplomatic.

"The closest I've come to a man in the last year is standing in the checkout line at the supermarket. Mr. Roarke, think about it! You have no idea how difficult it is to raise kids with absolutely no help!"

Leslie peered sidelong at Elaine and then at Roarke, trying to gauge his reaction; completely deadpan, he commented, "Uh, I think I know what you mean..." She rolled her eyes, missing his split-second wry glance. "But what, exactly, do you expect to happen this weekend?"

Leslie returned her attention to her guardian, who now was completely serious, if just a little confused. Elaine let out a little sigh and took a seat on a nearby bench. "Mr. Roarke..." As he sat beside her and Leslie paused nearby to listen in, Elaine continued, "I would love to have just two days to do nothing but savor the heady aroma of aftershave lotion. I want to be surrounded by men. I want to have a...a relationship, at least in the physical sense."

"Ah," said Roarke, as if greatly enlightened. "Yes...well, that's simple enough. All you need is a qualified nursemaid to keep the children out of your way while you pursue your, uh...your fantasy." At which Leslie relaxed a little; she knew full well that _qualified nursemaid_ came nowhere near describing her. For that matter, she had never really even babysat.

"That's about it," Elaine said.

"Well, Lawrence has an excellent rapport with the members of the younger generation," said Roarke, startling Leslie too much for her to hide it. "And I know he'd be more than happy to entertain Jane and Michael during the weekend." Leslie stared at him, but he wasn't paying any attention to her.

"Oh, that's great," Elaine said, as much relief as delight in her voice. "When do I start?"

"Oh, as soon as you want," Roarke said. "Meet me at the swimming pool, and your fantasy will begin."

Elaine nodded. "Okay then." Something overcame her for a moment, and they both saw doubt and worry flash across her face before she pulled herself together, none too gracefully. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke, and thank Lawrence for me too." Roarke smiled and agreed, and she jumped up and hurried away, as if afraid merely walking would give her too much time to change her mind.

"Mr. Roarke, I hope you're kidding," Leslie blurted as soon as she knew their guest was out of earshot. "Lawrence? He's no more a qualified nursemaid than I am! And how can you say he gets along well with members of the, uh, _younger generation_ when he won't get along with me?"

"Any more than you attempt to get along with him, you mean?" riposted Roarke, fielding her scowl with an infuriating lack of perturbation. "I daresay you and the Ashley children are of different generations yourselves; Lawrence is very good with younger children, almost as good as Tattoo. Besides, I got the distinct impression that you were less than thrilled with the idea of being Mrs. Ashley's designated babysitter for the weekend. I thought you'd be happy to be relieved of that little chore. If not, you and Lawrence can certainly work together."

"That won't be necessary," Leslie said darkly, squinting at him when she saw him squelch a smile. "But I do have to admit, I'd love to be a fly on the wall when Lawrence tries to answer Jane's and Michael's questions about their mother's fantasy."

"That can be arranged," said Roarke without missing a beat. Leslie blinked, then made a gagging noise that evoked laughter from him as they started back toward the main house.

By the time they got there, Nikolos Karabatsos was waiting for them alongside Lawrence beside a rover that sat beside the fountain in the lane. Roarke drove them to the hotel, where any number of young and beautiful people were lounging around on deck chairs scattered across the grass in front of the building. Karabatsos seemed to like what he saw, and was the first one out of the rover, striding across the grass without hesitation while Leslie, Lawrence and Roarke tried to catch up. "Sir," called Lawrence finally, "have mercy...we are no longer young either."

"Speak for yourself," Leslie suggested lightly, earning only a dismissive headshake from him.

"Mr. Karabatsos, one moment," Roarke requested.

"Stow it, Roarke, I'm a dying man—dying for that little lady over there at the moment, so don't waste any more of my time," said Karabatsos, pointing at a young blonde in a periwinkle-blue bikini not too far away. Leslie rolled her eyes again, fortunately out of sight of Roarke and Lawrence. "Where is this paragon you've found for me?"

"If you can tear your eyes away from that 'little lady'," said Roarke, managing to throw a barb without sounding as if he were doing it, "it's the young man with her, Mr. Edward Random; I believe you knew his father." Sitting in the lounge chair beside the blonde was a good-looking dark-haired man somewhere in his late twenties; he appeared to be of Greek ancestry himself, despite the surname.

Karabatsos scoffed, "Conrad Random's son? Come on, Roarke, I ruined his old man in the business world. The kid hates me for it. You expect me to offer him this job?"

Roarke shrugged, making a nonchalant face to go along with it. "You wanted someone who is intelligent, has reason, and can be a fighter for a good cause, and I believe Mr. Random qualifies in every particular. Lawrence?"

From the breast pocket of his jacket, Lawrence withdrew a pair of reading glasses. "Touching on just the highlights," he began, donning the glasses and consulting a clipboard he had brought with him. "Mr. Edward Random achieved very high marks before being forced to drop out of Yale University in his third year. He then joined the Marine Corps, served for three years, and signed on as an ordinary seaman with a Dutch shipping company. He rose to the rank of first engineer, then was thrown overboard after a dispute with the captain over a woman named Lola." Leslie had to stifle a resigned snicker. Edward Random's Yale education had earned her admiration at first; but by the time Lawrence was finished, she wasn't so sure the young man was anything much more than a womanizing rake.

Karabatsos seemed impressed in a more favorable way. "Well, I'm proud of him," he remarked with mild surprise.

Just then a beach ball bounced right past Random's chair, and he twisted around to watch it go; that gave him a perfect view of Roarke, Lawrence, Leslie and Karabatsos. And the second he recognized the tycoon, the cheerful look evaporated from his features, morphing into a revolted glare.

"Hi, Eddie," Karabatsos called jovially. Leslie couldn't shake the impression that there was a taunt under the seemingly innocent greeting. "Good to see you again. I compliment you on your charming companion." As he spoke, he strolled over to Random's chair; his hosts trailed him, though Leslie suspected Roarke was hoping to prevent any possible fisticuffs by his presence. "Very pretty girl."

"Roarke," Random said ominously, "get this bum away from me."

"Just listen to the boy. Takes after his old man. Both losers!" jeered Karabatsos.

"Mr. Random, if you don't mind," Roarke said, and Random got to his feet, looking dubious. "I'd like to discuss your overdue hotel bill."

He had lowered his voice for the sake of Random's privacy, though Leslie was less and less sure the guy deserved any by now. "Oh, yes," Random murmured. "Could we talk about that later?"

"No, Mr. Random, now," said Roarke, polite and even smiling, but implacable. "Do you mind?" He excused them to Karabatsos—who, Leslie noticed, promptly took over Random's vacated lounge chair and started chatting up the young woman next to him—and led Random to a somewhat more secluded spot some distance from the gathering near the hotel pool.

"Look, Roarke..." Random began, clearly heating up for a good boilover.

Leslie folded her arms over her chest and glared at him; she might be afraid of Karabatsos, if only because of the power his vast wealth gave him, but she was under no such handicap with this obnoxious young man. "Hey," she said in freezing tones, "you're the one at the disadvantage here. Even now when you're in the wrong and you owe us, you're still being addressed as _Mister_ Random. The least you could do is show the same common courtesy."

Eddie Random eyed her as if she were a bug on a laboratory slide. "I'm still a guest—in other words, a customer—and the customer is always right."

"Not when he's got a humongous overdue hotel bill and he's in danger of no longer being either a guest _or_ a customer," retorted Leslie. She saw Roarke stifle a smile; even Lawrence had to hide his stretching lips with one hand.

"Indeed," Roarke said, having regained his composure with the same graceful speed he always did. "Lawrence, if you would, please—remind me again of the exact amount of the overdue bill?"

"Gladly, sir," said Lawrence, with actual relish, and consulted his clipboard again, flipping over a page or two and then running his finger down a list. "Ah yes. Mr. Random owes seven hundred fifty-five dollars and eighty-nine cents, as of eight o'clock this morning."

Random actually looked startled. "That much?" he said weakly.

"That much," Roarke confirmed. "And as we have ascertained that your credit cards have been canceled for lack of payment, we will have to insist on cash."

"I could write a check," Random offered, with more hope than conviction.

"Only to have it bounce, most likely," Lawrence remarked with a sniff.

"I don't have that kind of cash on me," Random protested. "I can get it, if you give me a couple of days to—"

"By which time you will owe us eight hundred ninety dollars," Lawrence broke in, with great disapproval. "And thirty-four cents."

Random looked thwarted but tried to hide it. "Uh, well..."

"I have a proposition for you," Roarke offered. "Since you are clearly unable to pay your bill, I am willing to square your debt if you'll agree to work it off."

Random looked as if he'd rather have eaten a bowlful of cockroaches for breakfast. _Typical spoiled rich boy,_ Leslie thought disdainfully. "I don't think so," the young man announced.

"In that case, if you don't mind, may I have the seven hundred fifty-five dollars?" Roarke asked, all polite formality, extending one hand with palm facing the sky.

"And eighty-nine cents," Lawrence added.

"Plus," Leslie concluded, "you'll have to check yourself out of the hotel before noon today, or the total will go up by another night's charges. And we could use the accommodations—we're pretty busy right now. The next charter out leaves at ten."

Random's face had filled with astonishment. "You mean you're serious?"

"As a funeral," Leslie assured him.

Eddie Random made a strangled-sounding noise, scrubbed his face with both palms, and let out a defeated groan. "All right...all right. What've you got in mind, Ro... _Mister_ Roarke?"

"Right this way," Roarke said, gesturing toward the rover that waited on the road at the edge of the hotel lawn. "Lawrence, see to Mr. Karabatsos' comfort, please; Leslie, come with us."

About half an hour later they had arrived at the fishing village, a fairly good-sized community located on the southwestern corner of the island a little east of the tiny airport. Roarke led Leslie and Eddie Random along a wooden dock lined with tiny shingled shacks straight out of Leslie's native New England, to a double-masted sailing schooner that had seen better days. A stocky man stood on the deck staring out to sea; he heard their footsteps and turned to watch them approach, relaxing a bit when he recognized Roarke and Leslie. Roarke smiled and called, "Permission to come aboard, Captain?"

"Yeah, go ahead," the captain agreed grudgingly.

Roarke thanked him and led the way aboard; Random was only a step behind him, with Leslie bringing up the rear. "Mel Gordon...this is Edward Random, the young man I was telling you about. You remember Leslie, of course." Leslie smiled at the captain, who touched his hat brim.

"Uh, let me get this straight, Mr. Roarke...you want me to pay off my piddling hotel bill—" began Random, low-voiced, but not enough for either Leslie or the captain to avoid hearing him.

"Your grossly overdue piddling hotel bill, Mr. Random," Roarke reminded him.

"Uh, yes...you want me to pay it off by getting this boat back in shape till it can sail again?" As Random spoke, a young woman no more than eight years or so older than Leslie emerged from the little wheelhouse and came up to stand beside the captain. Unaware, Random went on, "Why? What is so important about this wreck?"

The young woman had no compunction about speaking up, in a frigid tone that matched her expression. "What is _so important_ is that a lot of people on the outer islands depend on this ship, mister."

"And this is Mr. Gordon's daughter, Angie," Roarke said. "This is Eddie Random."

"Well, Mr. Roarke," Angie said coolly, "you can tell Eddie the people are depending on us for their food and the mail and their medical supplies, and if this ship isn't sailing again soon, those people are gonna be in a lot of trouble."

Roarke nodded. "I think you've said it all rather eloquently, Miss Gordon." He turned to their reluctant guest. "And now that you've been given your reasons, Mr. Random, we'll leave you to your work. Will you excuse us? Leslie..." He stepped past Random and disembarked.

"Oh, hi, Leslie," Angie Gordon said with a quick smile. "Things been okay since Tattoo left?"

Leslie released a long sigh and rolled her eyes, letting these speak for her in lieu of words; Angie chuckled sympathetically. Leslie smiled wryly back and said, "Well, good luck, everybody." Mel Gordon and Angie both looked skeptical; Random turned to favor her with an incredulous stare. She merely waggled her fingers at him and followed Roarke off the boat and along the dock back to the rover. Behind her she could hear a fairly impassioned exchange of words, but it didn't last long enough for her to bother turning around to see what it was all about. Instead, she put the question to Roarke when they were on their way back toward their own end of the island.

"Edward Random looks like the kind of spoiled rich brat who wouldn't know a bow from a stern," she said. "How's he going to help out the Gordons?"

"He knows boats well enough to be of a good bit of service," Roarke said. "Remember, he was a Marine, and later an engineer with a shipping company. He's quite good with engines. And I daresay if he wants to avoid our suing him for the amount of his hotel bill, he'll apply himself to this job with all due diligence." Roarke smiled broadly, and Leslie grinned and let the subject lie. She had to admit it had been fun pulling the guy down a few pegs.

After a spell she inquired, "So who's going to be taking care of Michael and Jane Ashley?"

"I had thought to assign Lawrence to that job," Roarke said. "That's what I told Mrs. Ashley, in any case. However, there will be times when Lawrence will need to take breaks to perform his most essential duties, so at those times you can take over till he returns."

Leslie eyed him thoughtfully. "Hmm. Will I get paid for any of this babysitting?"

"Perhaps," said Roarke, glancing at her curiously. "Do I detect a certain amount of reluctance in your demeanor, young lady?"

"Well, it's just that Lauren makes pretty good money babysitting—and she's sat for some real little monsters. That kid Christy comes to mind—you remember, the one who was here when that actor Burt Hunter was on the island last year? And there are about five other kids who apparently fall into the same category. She puts up with a lot from those kids—a _lot_ —so she gets paid accordingly."

"I see," Roarke commented. Leslie could tell he was amused, and frowned at him. "I don't think Jane and Michael are quite the little monsters of the sort you say Lauren must deal with. But if you insist, we can certainly discuss payment. What do you think is fair?"

"Lauren charges ten dollars an hour," Leslie mused, considering it. "If Jane and Michael aren't as bad as that, I guess I could go for seven an hour."

Roarke cast her a look askance. "That's more than twice the minimum wage."

"What is it they say a mother who stays at home with her kids would be worth if she got paid for all the housekeeping and child care she does?" Leslie ruminated aloud, trying to come off as casual (though deep inside she was sure Roarke knew perfectly well she couldn't quite pull it off). "She'd make more than some CEOs do. Seems to me that babysitters provide some of that same childcare service, so they should be fairly compensated, just like the mother."

Roarke laughed. "You're entirely too shrewd for your own good, Leslie Susan. Very well, I'll see to it that you're paid for whatever time you spend babysitting. Just for now, let's make sure the children's mother's fantasy begins smoothly."

Lawrence, they found, had already set up Elaine Ashley on the patio behind the house—the same flagstone terrace that Roarke had taken to referring to as a lanai lately—and was waiting in the study when Roarke and Leslie came in. "Ah, good. If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll be off to take charge of young Jane and Michael right away."

"You sound like you're looking forward to it," Leslie remarked, surprised.

"Jane and Michael were the names of the youngsters in _Mary Poppins,"_ Lawrence said with a reminiscent smile. "With such sensible names, these must be sensible children." He nodded to Roarke and departed without further ado.

"Boy, is he full of delusions," Leslie snorted. "If he pulls out an umbrella and starts flying, I'm going to blame you, Mr. Roarke."

"Really, Leslie," Roarke scolded mildly, already on his way across the study to the terrace. Leslie shook her head and followed him along, sitting at the white-painted wrought-iron table along with Roarke and Elaine Ashley. They greeted one another; then Roarke suggested they go to the resort's pool, where she would be more likely to meet men. For a while the threesome sat at the bar, while Roarke made a quick check with the bartender on supplies and Leslie, presented with a glass of mixed pineapple juice and ginger ale, idly stirred the combination with a red straw into which the bartender had stuck a miniature paper parasol. There was quite a little crowd around the pool; Leslie could see Elaine Ashley furtively surveying the various swimmers and sunbathers, as if gearing herself up to join the fray. _Does she really want this fantasy after all?_ Leslie wondered for the first time.

"I'm really looking forward to this," Elaine spoke up then, as if trying to put the lie to Leslie's thoughts. "My ex-husband had me fooled for so long, I can't believe I wore blinders for all that time."

"Well, Mrs. Ashley..." Roarke sipped from his glass of iced tea. "...you have the next forty-eight hours to make up for all those wasted years." He smiled and added conspiratorially, "As they say, good hunting."

"Thank you, Mr. Roarke," Elaine murmured and slid off her stool. "I've gotta run. Bye." She gave a wave and started away, then turned her head back in the direction she was walking just as an airborne beach ball sailed past her. Startled, she let out a yelp, lost her balance and tumbled right into the lap of a man stretched out on a chaise longue nearby. Roarke, who had been about to leave, did a mild double-take; Leslie stifled a gasp by gulping down several swallows of her drink.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Are you hurt?" Elaine exclaimed.

"Well, if I am, I love it," they heard him respond, and Leslie, about to lower her glass, used it to hide another reaction, this one of disgust. _What a line,_ she thought, but she couldn't take her eyes off their mortified guest.

"Oh, I feel so stupid," she mumbled, shifting nervously in the man's lap. He had enough of a grip on her that she couldn't quite get to her feet; one hand lay on her waist, the other on her leg.

"Well, you don't feel stupid to me," he remarked. He fit the classic description of "tall, dark and handsome", though the neat little charcoal-drawn mustache that crossed his upper lip detracted somewhat from his looks—at least in the opinion of Leslie, who wasn't fond of mustaches.

Elaine glanced nervously around, then grabbed her skirt and draped it modestly over her leg—man's hand and all. Undaunted, he brushed the skirt right back where it had been and replaced his hand, stroking a little near her knee. As if desperate, Elaine met Roarke's gaze; he simply raised his glass at her and smiled, and Leslie nearly choked on her own drink.

That got Roarke's attention. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm okay, really," she managed. "I just...can't believe that actually happened. It's right out of some cheesy romance movie."

Roarke eyed her with raised brows. "Indeed. In that case, perhaps we had best absent ourselves from the theater lest you insist on a refund of your ticket money." So saying, he got up and strode away; Leslie thunked her glass onto the bartop and scuttled after him, wishing that just for once she could deliver a zinger without him tossing one right back at her and squelching her.


	10. Chapter 10

**§ § § - December 3, 1983**

Shortly after lunch, when Leslie had handled all the day's mail and there were no other office tasks for her to perform, Roarke suggested she go to the open-air dining room and join Lawrence and the Ashley children. "Do I still get paid for it?" she hedged.

"You're becoming as bad as Tattoo, with that obsession with money," Roarke remarked. "We already discussed this at lunch and settled on the seven dollars an hour you requested. Since you will simply be spending time with them and Lawrence is still providing their main care and supervision, I think your insistence on payment is a bit much—not to mention rather gauche. You have some free time; make a little use of it and get to know the children at least."

So Leslie went, wondering what she might be getting into. In truth, it wasn't Jane and Michael who bothered her, but hanging out with Lawrence. She had the distinct feeling she wouldn't be welcome in their little club, and took her time about reaching her destination.

But when she got there, she saw Lawrence behind a small bar in the corner, decked out in a chef's toque and apron. Michael and Jane perched on stools in front of him while he served them huge ice cream treats. "There, Jane, do you think you can handle that?" he was asking, placing a banana split in front of her, as Leslie meandered within earshot of them.

"No problem!" Jane exclaimed enthusiastically and dug right in. Leslie had to laugh as she took the stool beside Michael.

"Mind if I have some ice cream? Just a little though," Leslie said, more diffidently than she had meant to sound.

Lawrence seemed fine with it, though. "Coming right up, miss," he agreed. "Chocolate?"

"You know me pretty well," Leslie admitted with a chuckle, and won a quick answering smile from him before he began to dish up her request. "Geez, Jane, that's all whipped cream."

Jane Ashley looked up at her and giggled. "I like whipped cream," she said, and Leslie laughed, watching her scoop up a heaping spoonful of the stuff.

Michael, on the other hand, was contemplating his treat with gloomy disinterest. Leslie studied his expression in surprise; Lawrence put Leslie's ice cream in front of her and focused on the boy. "Something wrong with your sundae, Michael?"

Michael peered up at him, then pushed the huge sundae glass away and asked point-blank, "Lawrence, why is it so important all of a sudden for my mom to start meeting guys?"

Lawrence looked taken aback and more than a little uncomfortable. Leslie watched him unobtrusively while eating her ice cream, very interested in his answer. After a moment he began, "Well...you see, Michael, there comes a time in a woman's life when she needs the company of...of another person." There was an increasingly sour look on his face as he said this; Leslie hoped Lawrence couldn't see her smiling around the spoon in her mouth.

Naturally, Michael didn't get the subtlety. "Well, whaddaya think _we_ are?"

"Uh, yes, you do have a point there," Lawrence mumbled, and Leslie hastily scooped up another spoonful of chocolate ice cream and hot fudge, pretending to be heavily engrossed while he rounded the bar and shifted Jane to the last empty stool, then took her vacated spot beside Michael. Jane tapped hard on the bartop and pointed at her dish when Lawrence turned around. He shoved it aside for her and returned to Michael. "Well, you see...sometimes a woman needs a man, with his special...ability to care for her needs."

"I take care of my mom," Michael said, sounding hurt and defensive. Leslie noticed Jane shift her attention to them as she crammed a heaping spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

"Of course you do," Lawrence agreed hastily. "But...sometimes grownups like to do things together. _Grown-up_ things." He sounded a little ominous, Leslie thought.

Meantime Michael grumbled, "She's gonna find a guy and go on a date with him, and Jane and I are gonna have a baby brother." Leslie was instantly distracted by that.

"Or a baby sister," she offered pointedly, annoyed that the boy didn't even consider the possibility.

"That's even worse," Michael shot back in disgust. Leslie rolled her eyes.

"If you'll pardon me, young man, I think I can guarantee that that is one thing your mother absolutely does _not_ want!" Lawrence announced, sounding affronted.

"It doesn't matter. She doesn't want us anymore," Michael protested, and with that dropped his head atop his arms and started to cry. Lawrence sat up in dismay, staring at Leslie.

She swallowed a mouthful of ice cream and laid a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Hey," she said softly. "I don't think that's true, Michael. Your mom loves you."

"Then how come she doesn't want to hang out with us?" Michael demanded tearfully.

"Well...it's not that, really," Leslie floundered, hoping she could come up with something on the fly that would satisfy him. "Look...Michael, look at me." When he had reluctantly raised his head and was more or less doing as she requested, she whipped a napkin out of the nearby holder and handed it to him. "You know how sometimes you just want to hang out with your friends at home, and you don't want any grownups around for a while? Well, that's sort of what's happening with your mom this weekend. She's just looking for some grown-up company for a while. It's not like she isn't coming back at all. She will be, I promise."

"Yeah, right!" Michael scoffed, mopping his face with the napkin. "She doesn't want to just hang out with her friends. She wants to find some guy to take my dad's place, that's all. I heard her. She wants to meet guys to find another one to get married to or something." He slammed the napkin atop the bar and scowled at it. "It was gonna be a great vacation, just the three of us. And then she goes and runs away from us."

About to respond, Leslie noticed something wrong in her peripheral vision, and leaned to one side to get a look around Lawrence. The banana split sat atop the bar rapidly melting; the chair in front of it was empty. "Speaking of running away—what happened to Jane?" she exclaimed.

Lawrence and Michael both cranked around to see the empty chair for themselves; Lawrence's eyes popped with horror, in a comic-book way that would have made Leslie and probably even Michael laugh under any other circumstance. "Where'd she go?" Michael blurted.

"She can't have gone too far away. It's been just a few minutes," Lawrence reasoned. "Let's go and look for her."

This turned out to be a lengthy exercise in futility; they spent more than half an hour scouring the resort area as far afield as the pool before realizing Jane had managed to disappear with a thoroughness neither Leslie nor Lawrence had thought possible on a relatively small island like this. Before either of them could figure out where else to look, Michael decided, "We need to tell Mom. This'll make her stop looking for guys—I hope!" So saying, he took to his heels, and Lawrence and Leslie could only follow him, both afraid of misplacing him as well as his sister.

They all ran nearly the entire way back to the Lotus Bungalow where the Ashleys were staying, and Michael clattered up the steps with Lawrence and Leslie right behind him, throwing open the door and gasping, "We've lost Jane!" Even as he said this, Elaine Ashley bolted up from the couch, looking shocked, as if caught committing some nefarious deed. Beside her sat the man Leslie remembered from the pool, the one whose lap Elaine had fallen into.

"What do you mean, you've lost Jane?" she exclaimed, horrified.

"Who are these people?" her companion asked her with a faint frown.

Lawrence took control, stepping into the room with Michael and Leslie just behind him. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Ashley—one minute she was there, the next she—"

"I found one! Mommy!" cried a delighted voice, and everyone turned to see Jane skipping inside with a strange man by the hand. Leslie hopped back two steps, just in time to keep from getting bowled over, taking in the guy with curly hair, an equally curly beard just starting to go gray, and a good running start on a pot belly. He was a little shorter than Leslie herself and dressed in shorts and a loud Hawaiian-print shirt, with knee-high baseball socks covering half his hairy legs. "Look, I found you a big man!" Jane announced triumphantly.

The man on the sofa eyed Mrs. Ashley suspiciously. _"Mommy?"_ he repeated.

She looked lost for a moment. "I—I'm sorry, I know this is all...very... _confusing,"_ she said, approaching Lawrence as she spoke and spearing him with a look that expected a full explanation from him. Leslie couldn't help being relieved that she had decided he was in charge.

"She said you needed help," Jane's friend said. "What's going on?"

"Very little," said Lawrence frostily and turned away from Elaine, approaching the bewildered man in the raised foyer. "Now, Mr. Hancock, if you'll allow me to show you back to your bungalow...we can't thank you enough for all your help."

"You sure that's her mother?" Hancock asked, peering at Elaine.

"Oh yes," Lawrence assured him in a dire tone and herding him out the door. "Mrs. Ashley, I shall return for Michael and Jane, which should give you time to...explain everything." With that, he pulled the door closed after him, leaving Leslie standing there gaping after him and aghast to realize that she was now on the hook for whatever madness might develop from this point on.

"I'm really sorry, I..." Elaine began, addressing the man on the sofa.

"Mommy, didn't you like Mr. Hancock?" Jane asked in amazement.

"Well, yes, dear, I—" her mother stuttered.

But the fellow on the couch arose all the same, and Leslie could read his disenchantment as if it were splashed onto the wall in four-foot-high red letters. "Well, I guess I'd, uh, better get going," he said, putting action to words and heading for the door. "Thanks, Elaine...and good luck with Mr. Hancock." On these dry words, he let himself out, slamming the door before Leslie could take advantage of the moment and make her escape.

Elaine didn't even seem to realize Leslie was there. "Well, thanks a lot," she said to her startled children, her eyes filled with anger and disappointment. "I hope you're satisfied, both of you! You've ruined everything!" Breaking into tears, she dashed into the bedroom, slamming that door too.

Michael and Jane looked at each other, then at Leslie. Jane's expression was pure bewilderment; Michael was disillusioned. "I told you," he said to Leslie. "She doesn't want us around anymore. I _told_ you!"

"But Michael—" Leslie began, only to find herself watching him race up the steps into the raised dining room and out the glass door in the corner. "Michael, wait!"

"Did I do something wrong?" Jane asked plaintively.

"Well, not really wrong," Leslie began, her head beginning to spin. "It's only that...um, that wasn't the kind of guy your mom was...oh, geez." She shook her head hard, trying to get a grasp on the situation. "Look, right now we'd better make sure we don't lose Michael like we lost you. Come on, let's get going."

"But you didn't lose me," Jane protested. "I knew where I was all the time."

Leslie growled in frustration and commanded, "Just come on, we have to get your brother!" She towed Jane through the bungalow and out the door to chase down Michael.

They found him in surprisingly short order; he hadn't gone very far, his tears overcoming him before he'd reached the edge of the bungalow's yard. "Come on, Michael," Leslie urged. "It's gonna be okay, I swear. Your mom'll apologize later on and everything'll be fine."

Michael's look said he didn't believe her, but he seemed too dejected and devoid of spirit to argue with her. Leslie was just leading them around to the front of the bungalow when she saw Lawrence returning, without Hancock in tow, and nearly cheered with relief. "Lawrence's back," she said. "And I think he'll do a much better job of explaining things to you guys than I can...right, Lawrence? I'd really better get back to the main house. I'm pretty sure Mr. Roarke needs me for something, so I better run back and do it...whatever it is." Without giving any of them a chance to respond, she whipped around and fled down the nearby path, running flat-out.

Out of breath by the time she reached the terrace behind the study, she fell into her usual chair beside Roarke's desk and concentrated on getting enough oxygen to talk, for Roarke had watched her pelt inside and was now waiting with an expectant look on his face. When she did get her breath back, she sank back in her chair. "Well, that was a bust."

"How so?" Roarke inquired, but before she could say anything, the door opened and the man Elaine Ashley had been with earlier walked in. "Ah, Mr. Avery."

"Mr. Roarke...and hello there, young lady," he said to Leslie, who smiled back and returned his greeting. "Mr. Roarke, might I presume to steal a few minutes of your time?"

"Of course, Mr. Avery, of course. Please have a seat," Roarke invited, and Avery accepted. "What may I do for you?"

"I'd like to know more about Elaine Ashley," Avery said. "She struck me at first glance as a very lively and carefree young woman...if a little shy. Apparently there are aspects to her that she didn't deign to tell me about, and I was hoping you could fill me in."

"I see," said Roarke, resettling himself in his own chair. "Well, for starters, Mrs. Ashley has been divorced for some little time, and is the sole support and caregiver for her two children. Michael is nine and Jane is six. Their father seems to have put as much distance between himself and them as he can, and Mrs. Ashley is struggling to provide for her youngsters on the salary of a creative advertising director. She is a loving and caring mother, very devoted to her offspring."

Their guest nodded slowly a few times. "She seemed to be...well, let's say embarrassed, when they appeared at her bungalow unexpectedly."

Roarke half-smiled. "Was she? Well, perhaps so; she did have hopes of finding some time for herself during this vacation trip. To that end, my assistant, Lawrence, has been taking care of the children, with a little help from my daughter Leslie here." He paused, then asked, "Did you have any specific questions, Mr. Avery?"

Avery thought it over for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Oh—could you tell me where she lives?"

"Yes, she and the children share an apartment in Downey, California," said Roarke.

"Very good," Avery mused. He appeared to be ruminating; after a moment he came back to the moment and focused on Roarke. "You've been very helpful, Mr. Roarke, thank you."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Avery," Roarke replied, this time with a full smile, and watched Avery rise and walk out.

"Why would he want to know more about Mrs. Ashley?" Leslie asked. "I mean, why come here and ask you, when he could've asked her himself?"

"Because, my dear Leslie, Mrs. Ashley is attempting to project a certain image while she's here for her fantasy, and should Mr. Avery have asked her for the information I just provided him, she would have found some way to avoid telling him. And he has a specific reason for asking, as he happens to be Martin Avery—the owner and operator of an extremely successful and competitive marketing firm, Avery Enterprises, which has quite a name for itself throughout southern California. He is very well off, and naturally, someone like that..."

"I get it," Leslie said, nodding. "Because, of course, he's rich enough to want to protect against women chasing him just to get at his money."

"Exactly." Roarke eyed the door through which Avery had exited a minute or two before. "But Mr. Avery will force Mrs. Ashley to make an extremely difficult choice." He sat a moment, frowning, then consulted the grandfather clock and arose. "Lawrence should be back at any moment; we'll need to check on affairs down at the fishing village, if I am not mistaken."

By the time the rover arrived, with Lawrence in the front seat beside the driver and Leslie sitting in the middle seat with Roarke, Lawrence had made a thorough report of his morning's activities and errands to Roarke, checking off items on a list as he did so and then handing the slim black portfolio to Roarke for his perusal. "Now," he said, "it remains to be seen as to whether Mr. Random is fulfilling his own obligations."

"Indeed," said Roarke. "Well done, Lawrence, and my sincere appreciation." He looked up as the rover turned down the little waterfront lane that brought them to the slips where the fishing boats were moored, just in time for all three of them to see someone step off the front stoop of a small shop to intercept the rover.

The driver braked as Edward Random called, "Mr. Roarke...Mr. Roarke!"

"Yes?" Roarke inquired.

Random trotted to the car and leaned down beside Lawrence's seat, waving a small paper in the air. "See this? A paid receipt. Know what it's for?"

"You've paid up your hotel bill," Lawrence guessed. "Very honorable...and surprising. I'll call and have your luggage released."

Random started chuckling. "It's for diesel parts for the _Swift_." He took a giant step forward so that he could lean into Leslie's side of the car and address Roarke. "And Karabatsos had nothing to do with it. I've beaten him!" With that he turned to Leslie and announced, "Oh, and don't worry about the hotel bill. It may go against my grain, but uh...I'll take care of that one too." Since his attention was on a faintly skeptical Leslie, he completely missed Roarke's wordless glance toward a figure reading a newspaper, leaning on a boat not far away. Smirking, he straightened up and strode away.

Lawrence twisted around in his seat so he could watch Random go, and commented, "Seems to me that young man may be overreaching himself a bit, if he thinks he can best a man like Nikolos Karabatsos."

"Too bad this turned out to be a contest between them," Roarke noted, "when the real winner should be the people on the island who desperately need the supplies." He closed the portfolio and handed it back to Lawrence as he spoke.

"Yes, sir," Lawrence agreed.

"And I'm afraid they won't be receiving any supplies," Roarke added coolly then.

Both Leslie and Lawrence stared at him in alarm. "Why not?" Leslie exclaimed.

"Unless Mr. Gordon's problem can be resolved first," Roarke completed his thought, frowning again with concern. Lawrence looked a bit blank, but he seemed to accept the mysterious observation.

Leslie, however, couldn't leave it alone. "What problem?"

"Mr. Gordon was widowed three months ago," Roarke said. "He and his wife and daughter were aboard the boat when the engine quit, and they were unable to get it restarted. Mrs. Gordon died there, before they weer finally rescued by the Coast Guard. Mr. Gordon has blamed the boat ever since then, and is more than willing to let the _Swift_ fall apart from neglect. He is so wrapped up in his grief and anger that he can't see the bigger picture."

Leslie remembered the captain's daughter. "But hasn't Angie tried to explain it to him?"

"To no avail," said Roarke gravely. "And I suspect that no matter what Eddie Random tries to do—even with the help he is unwittingly receiving from Mr. Karabatsos—" Here he gestured to the man with the newspaper that they'd seen earlier. "—unless Mr. Gordon can be persuaded otherwise, all efforts on his behalf may be for nothing." He let that sink in, seeming to ponder it himself; Leslie followed his distant gaze, where the _Swift_ bobbed gently at its slip, before asking the driver to take Lawrence back to the resort to take charge of Jane and Michael Ashley again. He and Leslie got out of the car, conducting a little business around the village before Roarke made a call to the resort to have a rover brought down to pick them up.

They were still waiting, near the end of the village where some of the island's native Polynesians had built a cluster of simple thatch-roofed shacks, when Nikolos Karabatsos approached them. "Well, Roarke, young lady," he began.

"My daughter, Leslie," Roarke reminded him.

Karabatsos hiked both eyebrows with some surprise at his cool tone of remonstration, and gave Leslie a nod and a tip of his dark cap. "My apologies, Leslie. As I was about to say: I presume you're aware of this entire situation regarding the boat and what young Random intends to do."

"Of course," said Roarke, as if it were obvious to everyone else on the planet and only Karabatsos was in the dark.

"Well, of course." Karabatsos smiled thinly. "But I just caught Gordon getting ready to undo all the hard work that Random—and I—have gone out of our way to perform for him. Come with me."

They rounded the pawnshop where they'd seen Eddie Random earlier and made their way down the jetty, where they were just in time to see Mel Gordon light a broom on fire and prepare to toss it aboard the _Swift_. Leslie could see a gasoline can sitting at Gordon's feet; there was a large and spreading wet stain on the boat's deck. Shock filtered through her as she understood what Gordon's intention was, and had to muffle a horrified gasp.

"Mr. Gordon," Roarke said, catching the man just as he was about to heave the burning broom at the boat. "If you throw that torch on the boat, it will go down, of course...but that will certainly not bring back your wife." Gordon stared at him; Leslie heard a door close, behind her and to her right, and footsteps on a wooden walk. She turned enough to see Eddie Random and Angie Gordon halt on the walkway and take in the scene; Angie gasped, and both young people stared openmouthed. Her father stared back, expressionless, as if his soul had fled his body long ago and all that remained was a bitter shell. Roarke entreated gently, "Mr. Gordon, please...put it down."

"No," Gordon snapped, transformed in an instant by an incandescent rage, and pointed over his shoulder at the _Swift_. "If her engine hadn't'a quit on me that day, Mary'd still be alive. That damn boat killed her!"

Roarke shook his head. "It's time to be honest with yourself, Mr. Gordon, and stop hiding from reality by blaming this boat. You knew your wife was dying even before you left for the islands."

"That's not true," Gordon protested, voice shaking. "Mary wanted to go. She didn't want to be left behind; she made me take her."

"Yes, yes," Roarke agreed, stepping forward, his voice still calm and entreating. "Because she also knew she was going to die, and she wanted to spend her last hours with the man she loved." Leslie watched the man's face gradually begin to crumple as Roarke continued, "There was nothing you or any doctor could have done to save her, Mr. Gordon. But there are people in the islands you _can_ save. People your wife loved. People who are waiting for you."

Gordon's head drooped; when he looked up again, a tear was tracing its way down his cheek. He stared at Roarke for a few seconds, then broke down, his resistance crumbling after what Leslie suspected had been much too long. He turned away, sobbing, and dropped the burning broom into the water; only then did Angie race down the walkway and throw herself into her father's embrace. "Dad? Oh, Daddy," she exclaimed, hugging him.

It was as if the stone façade Gordon must have been putting up all this time had been pulverized into dust, broken beyond rebuilding. "Everything's gonna be all right, Angie," he promised her tearfully. "Everything's gonna be all right."

They walked away, with Angie murmuring reassurances to him; Eddie Random had drawn up beside Nikolos Karabatsos, who now remarked, "Well, you passed your first test modestly, but you're going to have to improve your technique in the future." Random, Roarke and Leslie turned to stare at him as he began to bloviate. "I want this operation to have style and flash. I'm going to teach you the meaning of those two words, my boy." So saying, he turned and started back up the jetty.

"I don't know how to get this through to you, but I'm not your boy," Random snapped. Karabatsos paused to eye him, and he went on, "I did this on my own, with my own money."

Karabatsos withdrew something from his pocket. "Meaning that you paid for it with this expensive-looking piece of glass, huh?" he clarified, holding up Random's ring in the sunlight. Before Eddie could react, Karabatsos jammed the ring hard against the wooden railing, stone-side up, and a few bits of shattered crystal spilled out of the setting. Eddie's mouth dropped open in horror; Leslie traded a glance with an expressionless Roarke.

Karabatsos returned to hand what remained of the ring to Eddie. "I bought the real diamond from your dad years ago, for many times more than what it was worth, when he was broke and needed help. Regardless of what you think, your father and I understood each other."

The younger man stared at him, the disbelief slowly fading from his eyes, to be replaced by resignation. "You won't leave me anything, will you," he muttered.

"Eddie, if seeing me lying dead is some kind of victory for you, you're going to have it sooner than you imagine. So waste my money, but don't waste my time. With your youth and my power, we can make history! Think it over." He turned and departed again, and this time Random let him go, still holding the broken ring, looking decidedly stunned.

Random turned to his hosts then. "What can I do, Mr. Roarke?"

"A lot worse, I assure you, Eddie," Roarke told him, reaching out to take a box of radio parts from Random's other hand and idly examining one of them. "As they say, if you can't fight them, join them." He raised his gaze to take in Eddie's reaction.

To Leslie's surprise, the young man smiled and admitted, "Well, I guess someone's gotta keep an eye on him." He winked at Leslie, who blinked and then laughed; Roarke smiled, and Eddie's own smile grew into an anticipatory grin. "Hey, Karabatsos—wait up!" he yelled and jogged off in the tycoon's wake.

Leslie let her laughter die out and peered at Roarke. "Well, I guess that's one fantasy taken care of. I mean, it looks like Karabatsos got just what he wanted."

"It certainly does," Roarke concurred, smiling back and then consulting his gold pocket watch. "The rover should be here within a few minutes; let's go out and meet it."


	11. Chapter 11

**§ § § - December 4, 1983**

Lawrence, called away for a while to attend to some urgent matter, had left Leslie in charge of Jane and Michael Ashley about an hour after breakfast. Jane seemed her usual carefree self, but Michael was as glum as ever. "Did your mom come back to the bungalow last night?" Leslie asked, mostly to get a response from the boy, since she was sure Elaine Ashley never would have left her kids alone in a bungalow all night long, swinger fantasy or none. It occurred to her at the same moment that in fact, Elaine had been no such thing; otherwise she would have been trying to make time with every attractive man she met here, and to the best of Leslie's knowledge Elaine had been seen only with Martin Avery. She wondered why on earth Elaine had said she'd wanted to be a swinger if it turned out she didn't.

Michael interrupted her thought with, "I dunno. Lawrence put me and Jane to bed last night, and we were asleep before Mom came back. I mean, if she did." He shrugged. "And then he was here this morning before he called you." The thought seemed to penetrate his gloomy mood and he frowned, then focused sharply on Leslie. "Hey, maybe she didn't! I mean, if Lawrence was here when we went to sleep, and then he was here this morning when we woke up—maybe he never left!"

"I guess that's possible," Leslie mused, a little surprised. She had heard from Roarke the previous evening at supper that Martin Avery had offered Elaine a job as marketing director with his firm, at twice the salary she was getting in her current job. "But if she did stay away all night, it's a sure bet that Lawrence was here in her place." She knew Lawrence well enough to know how seriously he took his job and all its attendant responsibilities; it would have been utter anathema to him to leave two young children alone in a bungalow for an entire night.

"Well, he must've," Michael reasoned. "We're too young to stay by ourselves. Mom says that all the time." He eyed Leslie. "Hey, how old are you?"

"Eighteen, why?" Leslie asked.

"Wow, then you're twice as old as me," Michael said, a little awed, his tone of voice enough to actually make Leslie feel old even though she knew good and well she wasn't. "Do you live here or something? I mean, you're always with Mr. Roarke."

"Well, that's because he adopted me," Leslie told him, and explained her story to him. "So I've been here almost five years now."

"Wow," Michael said again, now awed for a different reason. "Man, and I thought _my_ dad was a jerk. Yours sure had him beat. My dad just ran away...yours tried to kill you off!"

"Yeah," Leslie said, just to acknowledge him. She had no wish to discuss her birth father.

"If so many dads are like that," Michael wanted to know, "then how come my mom wants to find another one? We don't need another dad. We're doing fine without one."

"I thought Lawrence explained that to you yesterday," Leslie said, startled.

"Not really. I mean, I didn't get it. All that junk about how she needs grown-up company so she can do grown-up things. Special abilities and stuff—whatever that means. You said it better, how sometimes us kids don't want grownups around so we can do our own stuff, and grownups want the same thing sometimes. I got that. I just don't get why, not if so many guys are like our dads."

"Not all of them are," Leslie said.

"You sure about that?" challenged Michael. "You never saw any dad except yours, right? So how could you know?"

Leslie's answer was slow in coming, for even as she spoke, realization was dawning on her. "I know, because Mr. Roarke's been like a father to me since I first came to this island. He took care of me, and not just because he had to." She caught herself, thinking back to her first few weeks under Roarke's care. "Well, maybe in the beginning it was like that. But he couldn't help that, because he and I didn't know each other, and we had to get used to each other. And Mr. Roarke never had children of his own before. I mean, he told me he's raised a few other orphans before I came here, but he knew their parents, and they were older when they were orphaned, so they were almost grown up already and he didn't have to do too much. But I wasn't fourteen yet when I got here, and after my so-called dad and all the awful things he tried to do to us, I don't think I really trusted Mr. Roarke. I did, up to a point. He's the sort of person who makes you feel like you can trust him the minute you first meet him. But deep inside, it wasn't that simple. I missed my mother like crazy—I still do—and I was lonely and scared, and I had to get used to a new place and new people. I was totally alone in the world. But even if we got off to kind of a rocky start, Mr. Roarke understood my feelings. He was always patient with me, and he assured me he'd never hit me, or get angry with me without good reason. And he went on to prove that. He's never hit me, and he's never yelled at me or even gotten mad unless I've done something wrong or just stupid. He showed me that not all dads are like yours and mine. He was the kind of father I should've been born with. So that's why I think of him as my dad, especially now that he's legally adopted me."

Michael's eyes had glazed over, but Leslie could see he was processing her words. As the pause stretched out, Jane wandered over and asked, "Hey, Leslie, can we go to that eating place again and have some more ice cream? That banana split was so yummy yesterday!"

"Maybe later," Leslie said. "If your mom's okay with it. Besides, it's still morning, and nobody eats ice cream in the morning."

"I do," said Jane, as if she couldn't understand why the entire world didn't eat ice cream for breakfast. "Anyway, ice cream's good for you, 'cause it's made out of milk."

"Ice cream is also made out of loads of sugar, and that rots your teeth," said Leslie, who even as she spoke found herself wondering in the back of her brain when she had started sounding like a killjoy adult. "Your mom would say the same thing. Ice cream's a treat, not a meal."

Jane peered at Leslie as if the older girl had begun transforming into a toad right before her eyes. "Eww. You must be a grownup if you say dumb stuff like that."

"Close enough," said Leslie wryly. "No ice cream unless your mom okays it." Jane made a face and slouched away, her lower lip protruding.

Michael had been waiting, Leslie realized, for he pounced as soon as his sister had left them alone. "So then my mom wants to find a dad who acts like a real dad, right?"

"I think so, yes," Leslie agreed. _Or she will,_ she reflected, _once she gets around to figuring out that she hasn't really been a swinger at all the way she thought she wanted to be._ "And I think that's what my mother was hoping I'd understand, too. If not, she'd have left me with someone else, I think, but she didn't." She fell silent, pondering this discovery, feeling as if she'd just stumbled upon some small but profound truth. "And I think Mom got her wish."

Michael flopped back in his seat. "Okay...so my mom's here to find us a new dad. But how come she has to do it without us?"

"Only in the beginning," Leslie said. "Your mom wouldn't have you meet a new guy right away, not till she got to know him better, because she'd have to find out first how he feels about kids. She has to get to know him well enough to be able to trust him, and then decide if she wants you guys to meet him. It's a way for her to try to make sure she doesn't end up with another guy who treats you the way your dad did." She watched Michael's face begin to clear with comprehension. "So she's not just abandoning you. She's trying to find someone who's right not just for her, but you and Jane too."

"Oh," Michael breathed. "And I guess that guy that was here with her yesterday was somebody she liked, and maybe she was hoping he'd make a good dad for us."

"Yup, could be," Leslie agreed. "Then Jane kind of spoiled it with that Mr. Hancock." She grinned at the boy. "There are some things kids really can't help grownups with."

Michael laughed. "Yeah, that's for sure. We shoulda watched Jane better yesterday. Well, we will today. I'm gonna tell Lawrence we have to keep an eye on her all the time...or else next time she might bring home a circus clown that gives her ice cream." Leslie laughed as well, and they went back to watching television for a while, though Leslie's thoughts soon drifted elsewhere.

‡ ‡ ‡

Lawrence resumed his babysitting duties around eleven, and for the remainder of the day Roarke and Leslie cleaned out paperwork and fielded the occasional question or problem from guests who dropped into the office. Eventually Leslie filled Roarke in on her conversation with Michael that morning, and Roarke listened with interest, smiling when she finished.

"Well done, Leslie. Yes, I believe that was your mother's intent when she left you under my guardianship. She knew you'd have to come to understand that not all men are the same, for if you continued to believe that throughout your life, you could never trust a man enough to fall in love and eventually have your own family. I believe your mother wanted you to have the chance at that very future, should you wish it."

"It's funny," Leslie mused, "I never really thought about it till Michael asked his questions and made me consider it. Even five years after Mom died, she's still teaching me lessons."

Her adoptive father's broad smile told her she had said something so true, perhaps even profound, that she'd made him proud of her. "Indeed she is, and that's one hallmark of an exceptional parent. And not—quite—to change the subject, but you were also correct about Mrs. Ashley's misguided ideas about swingers." His expression changed then and he inquired, with an ominous thread underlying his tone, "Just where did you learn precisely what a swinger is, Leslie Susan?"

She had been in his care long enough to know when he was teasing, and gave him a saucy smirk in response. "I haven't exactly been living under a rock, you know. I was old enough when the swinger business started that all I had to do was watch enough movies and TV and read enough books to get the gist of it." She paused a moment, then added somewhat more seriously, "Of course, that might raise the question about what rock Mrs. Ashley's been living under."

Roarke chuckled. "Perhaps, but it seems to me that it's fortunate for both Mrs. Ashley and her children that she's been under that rock. And if she learns the lesson I hope she learns, she will remain there. How much mail is left for you to sort through?"

"Not too much. I can probably finish it before I go to bed," said Leslie, and gathered the remaining envelopes just as Lawrence walked into the inner foyer.

"Good evening, Lawrence," Roarke greeted him. "Are the Ashley children asleep?"

"Not when I left, sir," said Lawrence, "but that is no longer my problem. Mrs. Ashley herself returned—earlier than I expected she would—and took charge of her offspring."

"Ah, excellent," said Roarke.

"She looked quite thoughtful," Lawrence remarked, pausing in front of Roarke's desk as if to make an official report and then await further orders. "There was clearly quite a large issue on her mind; she barely responded when I wished her a good night. I must say I was quite surprised to see her return so early—and alone at that. I had expected she would be... _ahem_...keeping company with Mr. Avery, considering that she's been with him most of the weekend."

Roarke looked blandly interested in the face of Lawrence's half-expectant mien, as if the butler were waiting for his boss to explain what Elaine Ashley had been thinking. "Well, thank you for watching the Ashley children this weekend, Lawrence. Since you've been relieved of your duties by their mother, you may retire for the evening if you wish."

For about three seconds Lawrence looked as if he wanted to protest, and in fact even opened his mouth to say something; then he seemed to reconsider the impulse and snapped it closed, schooling his expression. "As you say, sir. Good night, and to you as well, miss." He nodded once at Leslie, then turned smartly on one heel and departed with a brisk stride.

Leslie grinned. "I have a feeling Mrs. Ashley learned that lesson after all, Mr. Roarke."

"I think you're right," her father agreed, smiling back. "Very well, go ahead and finish that task, and the rest of the evening is yours."

 **§ § § - December 5, 1983**

Even as the first rover approached them with Eddie Random and Nikolos Karabatsos in the middle seat, they could hear the older man's strident voice. "Are you sure you won't change your mind and come along, my dear?" he asked, directing the question to Angie Gordon, who sat in the front passenger seat, twisted around to face Karabatsos and Random.

"That's very, very tempting, Mr. Karabatsos," said Angie sweetly. "But for now I'm gonna stay with my father." Karabatsos accepted this with uncommon good grace, kissed her hand and stepped out of the car, while Angie turned to Random and asked, "Will I see you soon?"

"Real soon, Angie," he promised.

"Good," she murmured, and they kissed briefly and murmured farewells before he got out of the rover and it pulled away. Eddie then turned to Karabatsos, who was watching the car leave, and said lightly, "Listen, if you want me to work for you, you're gonna have to stay away from my women, understand?"

Karabatsos fell into the playacting, hanging an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "It's one thing to drive a hard bargain, Eddie, but when you add impossible conditions..."

"Well, Mr. Karabatsos," Lawrence said then, as if to break up this brand-new buddy-buddy club, "your fantasy to help out other people is starting out very well indeed."

"Yes, and I think the credit for this good beginning must go to Mr. Roarke and to you—and yes, to you too, Leslie," Karabatsos said with an almost regal nod of his head. Lawrence lowered his in a show of modesty that Leslie wasn't sure she fully believed; Roarke simply smiled with appreciation. "Thank you all very much."

Roarke turned to Eddie. "And you, Mr. Random: I trust having Mr. Karabatsos' vast wealth at your disposal isn't going to put too much of a crimp in your style."

"Well, I'll give it a year or so, until I make enough money of my own," Random replied, before turning slyly to Karabatsos and adding, "When I do, I'll use it to bury you."

Karabatsos released a scoffing chortle and led Random off to the plane. "I'd like to see you try, my boy."

Leslie eyed them, waiting till they were out of earshot before commenting wryly, "I wonder if Eddie Random knows enough to have meant that remark literally."

Roarke and Lawrence both peered at her, Roarke in surprise and Lawrence with just enough disapproval to nettle the girl; then Roarke said, "Perhaps by then enough time will have passed that they will have grown truly fond of each other—or at least friends enough that Mr. Random will truly do justice to the dispersal of Mr. Karabatsos' fortune." He raised an arm and waved at their departing guests; Leslie followed suit and Lawrence joined them a couple of beats late, as if preferring to dwell on his perception that Leslie's comment had been decidedly gauche. But in the end he let it go, and Leslie was relieved to keep the peace.

The second rover pulled up then, and Michael and Jane Ashley jumped out of the car, running to Lawrence to give him farewell hugs. Meantime Roarke handed Elaine out of the rover as Jane said, "Goodbye, Lawrence."

"We'll miss you, but we're sure glad to have our mom back," Michael added, beaming up at him with relief.

"There is no substitute for the real thing, is there?" Roarke observed cheerfully, his smile broadening as Michael shook his head. Jane and Michael both shook Roarke's hand; Jane bolted for the plane, while Michael started after her, then paused long enough to turn to Leslie.

"Hey, thanks a lot for our talk yesterday morning. I felt a lot better after that," he said.

Leslie grinned and accepted his handshake. "Glad I could help. Have a great trip home." Michael beamed again, then called a goodbye and galloped off in his sister's wake.

"Well, Mrs. Ashley," Roarke said then, turning to her, "how did it feel to be a swinger?"

"I guess I'll never really know," said Elaine, and Leslie smirked to herself: apparently Elaine had reached the same conclusion she had! "However, if the real thing should come along..."

Roarke chuckled, shook hands with her, accepted her thanks and wished her farewell. Elaine tendered her goodbyes to Lawrence and Leslie, thanking them both for staying with her kids, and made her way off to the plane dock. Lawrence turned to Roarke and observed, "Well, she didn't exactly get her fantasy after all, did she, sir?"

"No, Lawrence, as Leslie understood as early as yesterday morning," Roarke said, smiling, "but she did receive something much more important: the knowledge that a woman's search for fulfillment often leads her to her own doorstep." They waved off the Ashleys one more time; in fact Lawrence bent down halfway to aim a special wave at the kids, earning surprised, amused stares from both Roarke and Leslie before they grinned at each other.

 **§ § § - June 2, 2012**

"Oh," said Susanna, "so that's what a swinger is. A lady that wants to go out with a whole bunch of different guys."

"Close enough," Leslie said with a shrug, exchanging a grin with Christian. "One good thing did come out of that fantasy though—Elaine Ashley got to keep the position with Martin Avery's company, and she was able to buy a small house after a couple of years. We had one postcard from her telling us about that and about this really nice guy she had met, and that was the last we ever heard from her. So much for the decadent swinger fantasy."

"I recall hearing that Nikolos Karabatsos died about ten months after he had been to the island," Christian mused. "Since the Karabatsos concerns are still going strong, either Eddie Random learned a great deal of useful knowledge while Karabatsos was around to impart it to him, or he simply handed it off to a more competent heir and did as he chose with his own money."

"We didn't hear from him, so I don't know about that," Leslie said.

"But there was a telegram sometime later, announcing his marriage to Angie Gordon," Roarke put in. "So yes, another happy ending."

"You said there was another fantasy with kids in it right after that one happened," Tobias said. "What was that one about?"

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other and both chuckled. "More adoptees," Leslie said, making Christian's gaze sharpen with added interest. "Well, why don't we just tell you about it."

 **§ § § - December 10, 1983**

Their first guest had a semi-familiar face—Leslie thought he might be a game-show host, since he looked very much like one—but Lawrence spoiled her private little guessing game before she could even start to puzzle out the man's identity. "Isn't that Mr. Nick Gleason, sir, the gentleman who's putting on the Fantasy Island Girl beauty pageant?" _Well,_ Leslie reflected with a small sigh, _I wasn't all that far off the mark...at least he's a host of something._ She supposed his seeming familiarity had to do with his resemblance to a gaggle of game-show hosts she remembered from her childhood; she had never heard of Nick Gleason.

"Yes, Lawrence," confirmed Roarke, catching her attention. "A rather desperate man, I'm afraid."

"Desperate? How?" Leslie wanted to know.

"As a producer of beauty contests, rumor has it that a number of them have been, uh...fixed," said Roarke, with a significant look at her.

"Oh, nice," Leslie muttered, shaking her head.

"Then what on earth can his fantasy be?" asked Lawrence in perplexity. "To auction off the Fantasy Island Girl crown to the highest bidder?"

Leslie snickered, and Roarke looked a little grim. "I should hope not, Lawrence," he said. "Since the Fantasy Island pageant will merit international attention from the media, Mr. Gleason considers this the last chance he will have to clean up his tarnished reputation and make a success of his life. His fantasy is to produce an honest and hugely successful show."

"Good luck with that," mumbled Leslie, just as she glanced up and noticed an odd little smile on Lawrence's face. "Uh, what's with you?"

Roarke peered at Lawrence with half-stifled amusement, then prodded, "You seem familiar with our new guest, Lawrence." At this, Leslie followed Lawrence's gaze, which was trained on a hopeful-looking blonde woman in early middle age, wearing a subdued white floral-print dress with a red belt and matching red hat. The attire made her look as if she were on her way to a proper English tea.

"Marion Sommers," Lawrence said with reverent wonder. "Even lovelier in person than on the screen."

"I take it you're a fan," said Roarke in surprise.

"Oh yes," responded Lawrence, as if stunned that Roarke didn't already know.

"Ah," Roarke commented, and smiled, catching Leslie's grin. "Well, I know Leslie isn't familiar with her, so for her sake, let me explain: she is a stage and screen actress of some renown, although in the last ten years or so, her films have been more successful in Europe than in North America. Still, she is a well-known name and face in many countries."

Leslie nodded. "I expect if Mom were here, she'd have recognized her."

"What on earth can _her_ fantasy be?" Lawrence queried, his disbelief even greater for this guest than for Nick Gleason. "Surely that is one person who, as they say, has it all."

"Miss Sommers' fantasy is to be reunited with the two children that she gave up for adoption nearly fourteen years ago," said Roarke.

Shocked, Lawrence exclaimed, "Children, sir? I had no idea!"

"Neither has anyone else, Lawrence," Roarke said simply. "Least of all her children."

"Well." The butler seemed stunned. "You can surely grant her fantasy, can't you, sir?"

"That will all depend on how Miss Sommers interprets the word _reunited,"_ said Roarke, and before either Lawrence or Leslie could push out any more questions, his champagne glass arrived and he raised it in toast. "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"


	12. Chapter 12

**§ § § - December 10, 1983**

The island's lone theater, located on the western outskirts of town a little past the massive apartment complex that housed so many residents, had been opened and cleaned up for the beauty pageant Roarke had agreed to host; it was Leslie's understanding that he had contributed a goodly amount of financial backing to the show as well as providing the venue, thus earning the right to have the pageant named for the island. About a dozen young women, all either blondes or brunettes and mostly Caucasian, sat in chairs or stood watching Roarke, who along with Leslie was sitting on the stage. "Ladies," Roarke began, "and very lovely ladies, may I add—the competition will be exciting, hectic, and, I hope, as enjoyable an experience for you as it will be for those who come to see you compete in the Fantasy Island Girl pageant." While he spoke, Leslie let her eyes roam the room, taking in the assemblage. Nick Gleason sat at a table not far away with a stern-looking brunette woman sitting at right angles to him; most of the contestants were smiling and wide-eyed, hope gleaming in their faces, although Leslie spotted one blonde sitting in the back with a closed, touch-me-not expression on her face. She wondered where the women came from and what their stories were.

"As your host," Roarke went on, "I welcome you, and I wish you all well. One of you will leave wearing the Fantasy Island Girl crown." Leslie watched one brunette with a cagey cast to her features lean to the pretty blonde beside her and mutter something; Roarke continued speaking, as though he didn't notice. "However, there is more to a beauty contest than mere beauty..." Again the brunette muttered something to the blonde beside her, and Leslie lost track of Roarke's words as she concentrated on trying to read the woman's lips. Unfortunately, this was a talent she didn't possess; but she could see from the calculating look on the woman's face that this contestant was likely to be trouble. "...if you open your hearts to the wonder of new places, and the new friends you will make, then you will all leave Fantasy Island a winner." The women and others assembled in the theater applauded, and Roarke smiled. "Thank you—thank you, and good luck to all of you." He nodded to Leslie, who pushed herself to her feet and followed him off the stage.

They circled the perimeter of the room and settled down at the judges' table alongside Nick Gleason, while the brunette who had been sitting with Gleason went onstage and began issuing instructions to the contestants. "First up, Norma Adams." As Leslie ducked around Lawrence and took a chair, she watched the blonde who had been getting an earful from the mouthy brunette arise and head for the stage.

Gleason beamed at them and inquired, "Mr. Roarke...they're off and running; what do you think?"

Roarke smiled and sat back in the chair. "I don't envy the judges, Mr. Gleason. They're going to have a difficult choice to make." From the stage, the name _Angelica Baker_ was called out, and the brunette Leslie had eyeballed as trouble stood up and walked to the stage. "As one of the judges, Lawrence, don't you agree?"

Lawrence's brows shot up, and that popeyed look of horror that he pulled off so effortlessly made Leslie have to ram both fists against her mouth to prevent an unseemly burst of laughter. "Me, sir?" he blurted, almost in a whisper.

"Well, Mr. Gleason suggested that someone should represent Fantasy Island on the judges' panel, and I recommended you. Unless, of course, it's a burden you'd rather—"

"Oh no, no, no sir...we must all make sacrifices," murmured Lawrence, his eyes sliding off to the stage. Leslie rolled hers. "Thank you." With that, he left them, an air of burgeoning anticipation about him. On stage, the woman called for Tina Evans, and the blonde with the closed expression got to her feet, looking a little anxious but determined.

Gleason watched her go, finally paying proper attention to the proceedings, only to freeze and then tip forward, staring at the young woman just climbing onto the stage. Roarke cast Gleason a concerned look tinged with a trace of suspicion, and Leslie wondered if there was something about Tina Evans that had caught Gleason's attention in a way the others hadn't. Gleason put his glasses back on and watched intently while Tina made a turn and smiled into the audience. Angelica Baker, stepping off the stage, paused beside a large potted plant about six feet away from their table and squinted in Gleason's direction; as avidly as Gleason was eyeing Tina, Leslie scrutinized Angelica Baker, though she tried to be discreet about it.

"Something the matter, Mr. Gleason?" Roarke asked after a moment.

"That girl is my daughter," Gleason breathed, horrified. Leslie forgot Angelica Baker and gaped at him. "I swear to you, Mr. Roarke, I had no idea she entered this contest."

Roarke frowned, glanced at the stage and shifted in his chair, sitting up and leaning forward a little. "I can see that puts you in a rather awkward position, doesn't it?"

"Awkward?" Gleason repeated, his disbelief no less rampant for all that they had to keep their voices low. "I mean, if somebody finds out, they'll think I'm putting in the fix! I-I can be run out of this business for good!" Gleason was truly distressed, Leslie realized. Roarke said nothing, merely turned his attention to the stage; Gleason followed suit, his face reflecting the awful burden he now had on his shoulders. Leslie followed their gazes and noticed that Angelica Baker was still loitering beside the potted plant, wearing a sly little smile. Instantly she knew the woman must have overheard Gleason's revelation. _Geez, let's hope this becomes Lawrence's problem!_ she couldn't help thinking, but she knew that in reality it was Nick Gleason's problem.

‡ ‡ ‡

"They're really beautiful children, Miss Sommers," Roarke commented. They were at the main house with Marion Sommers pacing the floor in front of Roarke's desk; Lawrence was studying a photograph, and Leslie was waiting her turn to see it.

"And why not, with you for their mother?" Lawrence added gallantly.

Marion Sommers chuckled nervously before turning to Roarke and begging, "Please, where are they?"

As Lawrence passed the picture to Leslie, Roarke replied, "Ellie and Bill are already on the island, Miss Sommers—but before I take you to them, we must go over the ground rules."

"Believe me, I have them memorized," Marion informed him intensely. "I am to lecture at the Fantasy Island drama workshop for high-school students; I will show no favoritism, nor will I make any grandiose offers to any of the students—in particular, Ellie or Bill Woods." Leslie, who had finished perusing the picture of the small boy and girl in the photo, handed it to Roarke.

"I know it sounds unfair, Miss Sommers, but it's really for the best," Roarke said, quietly but firmly.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll go and see if the workshop is ready for Miss Sommers," Lawrence said, as if he fully expected Roarke to agree to this without comment.

Roarke eyed him oddly, but gave permission, and Lawrence departed with Marion's thanks. Then she turned to Roarke and said with some bitterness, "For the _best?_ I know all about doing things that are _really for the best._ That's why I gave them up in the first place."

"The best for them, or for you, Miss Sommers?" queried Roarke, rising.

"Them, me, the three of us...what difference does it make now?" she wanted to know. "I was young, trying to make it in the movie business, when their father ran out on me. I didn't have a dime for anything, let alone raising two children." She whirled back to face Roarke. "I thought that if I gave them up, they would have a better chance at life. And so would I."

"Then why, after all this time—" Roarke began.

Marion broke in, "Because I can afford them now!" This statement made Leslie's mouth fall open with astonishment, and any respect she might have had for Marion Sommers began to leak away. "I can give them all the things I never could before!"

Roarke noticed his daughter's expression, which she controlled with effort, and gave her a half-second's worth of silent agreement before slipping around her and out from behind the desk, buttoning his suit jacket as he went. "I see." He let that hang there till he had stopped in front of the actress, then spoke low, while Leslie tried not to show how she really felt. "Miss Sommers...it's not the monetary consideration, is it?"

"No," Marion Sommers said, shaking her head. "Now my career can afford them as well. No one is going to be scandalized if it turns out that I have two children." Leslie found herself beginning to fume. _Unbelievable!_ she thought. _I hope Mr. Roarke lets me talk to Bill and Ellie!_ She wanted to find out what Marion Sommers' kids were like, and whether they knew they were adopted.

Roarke's voice was a bit of oil on Leslie's troubled water. "I sympathize with you and all the pain I know this has cost you, Miss Sommers, but it's really quite beside the point, isn't it?...because no one will ever know you had these children."

"That's right," Marion murmured, looking somewhat subdued. "My fantasy was to be reunited with them...not to take them home."

"Exactly," concurred Roarke. He nodded with approval, upon which Marion Sommers walked out of the house, evidently under the impression that the whole fantasy would turn out exactly the way she expected it to.

"So now she can afford them, huh?" Leslie muttered in disgust. "She didn't say anything about how much she missed them after she gave them up, or that she thought of them every day, or even that she always loved them. No, now she can afford them, and now her career won't be derailed by the scandal of her having them. Well, hoo-freaking-ray for her." Her tone was so bitter with sarcasm that Roarke turned fully to face her, letting his surprise show. "I just hope Bill and Ellie don't end up traumatized by finding out who their mother really is and why she gave them up."

"You don't have both sides of the story, Leslie, nor even the full version of one side," Roarke cautioned her gently. "I know how it looks, but hold your counsel till you learn more."

"I'd like to meet Bill and Ellie," Leslie said. "Could I?"

"You certainly may; the initial phase of the workshop is to be held in the clearing across the lane from the house, and I believe some of the students are already gathering there. Bill and Ellie are close to your age; you may make new friends." Roarke smiled, then gave her a mild warning look. "But you are not to bring up the subject of Marion Sommers, unless they speak of her first—and then only in the context of her teaching the drama workshop."

"Don't worry, Mr. Roarke, I know better," Leslie assured him.

"Very well. Go ahead; I believe the Woods children are already there." He smiled and gestured her out, and she made her way out through the two foyers and across the porch, wondering if she would recognize Bill and Ellie from their photograph and doubting it, since quite a bit of time had passed since it had been taken.

But as it turned out, Bill and Ellie Woods were the only two who had arrived at the workshop location thus far, and when Leslie approached, they turned at the sound of her footsteps and smiled at her. "Hi," they greeted her, and Leslie smiled broadly back, feeling a little foolish. Even after all the times she'd met guests both great and ordinary in her time on Fantasy Island, she still felt shy about meeting new people, especially ones around her own age, and she felt that at eighteen she ought to have outgrown this by now. _Maybe I never will,_ she thought resignedly, but hid this from the Woods siblings.

"Are you here for the drama workshop too?" Ellie asked. She was a cute girl with mid-length dark hair and lively brown eyes, a few inches shorter than Leslie.

"Um, no..." Leslie laughed self-consciously. "I couldn't act my way out of a wet paper bag. My name's Leslie Hamilton and I live here."

"Really?" Bill and Ellie chorused, and Leslie nodded. Bill looked deeply impressed. "That's really cool! I'm Bill Woods, and this is my sister Ellie. Where do you live?"

"Right there," Leslie said with a grin, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb.

"With Mr. Roarke?" exclaimed Ellie. "How on earth...?"

"He's my adoptive father," Leslie told her. "I just graduated from high school back in the spring, and I help him out with most of the fantasies around here."

"Get out of here," Ellie blurted. "Bill and I are adopted too. Our real parents are dead now—well, at least our real mother is, I don't know about our real father. Is that what happened to you?"

 _Well, they know they're adopted, so that answers one of my questions,_ Leslie considered, as she told them a somewhat abbreviated version of her history. "So I was Mr. Roarke's ward for most of the time I've been here, but when I graduated back in May, he adopted me as my graduation gift. And now, well, here I am."

"So you're eighteen, then," said Bill, and Leslie nodded. "I'm eighteen too—I know I don't look it, and I was always teased in school about looking so much younger than I really am." He grinned sheepishly as Ellie rolled her eyes and Leslie chuckled. Bill added, "Ellie's almost fifteen. We're here because she wants so much to be an actress, and she thought this workshop with Marion Sommers would be a terrific chance for her to learn a lot about acting."

"I've heard it's supposed to be good," Leslie said with a nod. "There must be about a dozen kids who signed up, from what I understand. I have a couple of friends who would've loved to be in on it, but they're off at college." She had been considering all day how to tell Myeko and Michiko about their visit from Marion Sommers; even with all her friends except Maureen away for college, they all still asked about the fantasies every time Leslie got letters from them.

For a while they chatted; then Bill, who had been quiet while his sister carried the conversation, peered at Leslie. "Um, d'you mind if I ask you something personal? I mean, if you'd rather I didn't, just tell me so and I'll leave you alone."

"Oh, that's okay. Of course, it depends on how personal it is," Leslie kidded.

Bill huffed out a small laugh. "Well, it's pretty personal. You said you were thirteen when your family died. Do you ever wish you had your old life back?"

"Well, yes and no," Leslie mused slowly, carefully considering the question. "I mean, I'll always miss my mother, and it really makes me boil when I consider how Kristy and Kelly were cheated out of their entire lives. But sometimes..." She hesitated, glanced back and forth between Bill and Ellie, then hunched her shoulders. "It sounds awful to say, but in some ways it's almost a blessing. My..." She scowled. "Geez, I can't even call him my father—I detest him so much for what he did to Mom and the twins, and what he tried to do to me, I just can't. I hope you don't mind if I just call him the jerk." Bill and Ellie let out startled, nervous titters, and she smiled apologetically and gave a half-shrug. "Anyway, he made certain our lives were really miserable, every chance he got. I have no idea why Mom didn't leave him. Maybe he wouldn't have let her go, I suppose. And, I mean, who wants to grow up in that kind of atmosphere? Mom tried, but the jerk left his mark. I know he did, because it took me a couple of years to completely trust Mr. Roarke."

Bill sat up. "I was like that too. I sort of, almost, remember our real mother. I was about four or so when she gave us up. At least I'm pretty sure about that—Ellie was only a baby, so she has no memory of it. I can't remember a _whole_ lot about it, but I do know that one day she was there, the next day she was gone." He frowned a little. "I used to have dreams about it sometimes. We have a great life with our parents now, but once in a while it comes back to me. When I had that dream, I'd lie there in the dark and try and try to remember her face, but I never could."

"Mom says he's got trust issues," Ellie contributed. "I guess I can see why. But our mom's always so patient, with him and with me. She's the greatest mother ever, and if we had to be abandoned and all that, then I'm glad it happened, since we got such a cool mom out of it."

Leslie nodded. "That's a great way to look at it. I feel the same way—if I had to lose my mother and sisters, then at least Mom left me with someone she knew she could trust me with. And she was right. Mr. Roarke's been the kind of father I should've had. He's always patient with me too, and he's always been a really good sport about getting stuck with this homeless orphan who had no other relatives anyplace else on earth. So I guess us adoptees all got really good deals out of it."

Ellie and Bill laughed as a few other workshop attendees began to gather. "I guess we did. It looks like the workshop's gonna start soon," Bill said. "Thanks for talking to us."

"Thanks for letting me," Leslie said. "Great meeting you guys—see you later, and have fun." Bill and Ellie called goodbyes after her, and she waved back, making her way across the lane to the house. She had the distinct creeping feeling that Bill and Ellie were in for a large disruption of their lives; and as she hesitated on the porch, watching the rest of the workshop attendees gathering on the lawn across the way, she clutched the railing, seeing Marion Sommers briskly strolling down the lane to meet her students. In the end she loitered there, looking on.

For the first ten minutes or so, it went fine. Marion gave an overview of what her seminar was all about; then she called on various students and asked them questions, then analyzed their answers before they returned to their seats. She couldn't hear the words, but when Ellie Woods eventually put up her hand and asked something, Leslie could see Marion's reaction to both her and Bill. It took a few more minutes for Marion to get through her questions to them, but though the remainder of the session went smoothly enough, Leslie could see that Marion was rattled.

After lunch, she was proven correct when the actress let herself into Roarke's study and began to pace the floor, at first without speaking. Roarke and Leslie watched her for a moment; then Roarke prodded the visit forward by inquiring, "How did your workshop go, Miss Sommers?"

"Fine..." Marion mumbled distractedly, reaching the open French shutters and doing an about-face. Before Roarke could ask another question, she continued in an intense voice: "Bill and Ellie insisted I get together with them for dinner later. I don't think I want to meet all of them, Mr. Roarke. I can handle Bill and Ellie, but not their...mother, too." The last words came out with some difficulty as Marion paused beside a chair and stared blankly at the Persian carpet beneath her feet.

"You will like Mrs. Woods very much, I assure you!" Roarke insisted, approaching the actress to assess her expression while Leslie, ostensibly there to schedule fantasies, looked on. "She's a lovely lady. It's a compliment to you that they invited you to join them."

Marion shot him a look and said disparagingly, "They invited a movie star to join them. Not me." She hung her head, and Roarke aimed a gently reproving smile at her.

"I know it's difficult. But you've been doing just fine, Miss Sommers. Surely you can keep it up for another hour."

Marion turned to him and regarded him with wistful joy. "They're such wonderful kids. They're all I could've hoped for."

"Well, then, go and spend some time with them," Roarke urged. "While you can..."

Marion let her gaze disengage from his, doubt filling her face; but it was obvious to both Roarke and Leslie that her yearning to spend more time with her children outweighed her misgivings. She nodded at last, murmured acquiescence, then excused herself on the pretext of getting ready for the evening meal. When she had left, Roarke turned to Leslie. "What was your impression of Miss Sommers' children?"

"They seem really put together," Leslie said, thinking as she spoke. "Ellie knows what she wants to do, and Bill's a little more cautious, but he's got a good head on his shoulders too, I think. And they're both really nice. We all found some common ground in being adoptees, and talked about it for a while. But we never got around to Miss Sommers really. Mostly they wanted to know my story." She caught Roarke's faint smile. "I figured I might as well let them ask. It kept me from trying to find out what they knew. Not that I had to ask in the end, actually, since Bill said he can kinda-sorta remember his birth mother. He said sometimes he'd dream about her, and when he woke up he'd try to remember what she looked like, but he couldn't. And of course Ellie's too young to have any memories at all. So obviously neither one of them has a clue. In fact, they think their birth mother's dead—I guess that's what their adoptive mom told them."

Roarke nodded. "That will be to Mrs. Woods' detriment, I fear. And when Bill and Ellie do find out the truth—as they must—there may be alienation on more than one side."

‡ ‡ ‡

All three of them, Roarke, Leslie and Lawrence, were at the town's theater that evening for the semi-finals of the Fantasy Island Girl Beauty Pageant: Lawrence as a judge, Roarke as the emcee, and Leslie as a spectator. Leslie kept watching Angelica Baker and Tina Evans, looking for something that might seem to give them away to those who didn't already know both women's secrets. She had clued Roarke in on her observations of Angelica's eavesdropping on Gleason's revelation about Tina Evans, and had admitted to hoping that somehow the woman would be disqualified, though something told her Angelica was too canny to let herself be found out so easily. _Maybe,_ Leslie found herself thinking now, _she has as much experience seeing to it that beauty contests are thrown in her favor as Mr. Gleason's had with arranging the fixes..._

Applause welled up around her and she blinked back to the moment, watching from her chair near the judges' table as Roarke strolled to the mike at stage right and turned to face the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said as the room fell quiet, "the judges are now casting their ballots..." Leslie shifted her gaze to the table where Lawrence and four others sat marking sheets of paper. "...that will determine which six young ladies will return in tomorrow night's final competition for the title of Fantasy Island Girl." He nodded to Leslie, who arose and went to collect the ballots from Lawrence.

Gleason's assistant, Linda, stood beside the end of the table where Lawrence sat, and as Leslie approached them she could hear Lawrence murmuring to Linda, "Until this moment, madam, I never realized how difficult it is to differentiate between a number of heavenly bodies, all measuring thirty- six, twenty-six, thirty-six." He gave Linda a sappy little smile, which Linda repaid with an amused one of her own, before handing Leslie the ballots. Leslie tried to squelch her grin, but Linda saw it and winked, leaving Leslie to use the walk to the stage to battle back the snicker that wanted to explode from her. Roarke showed no sign of seeing her attempts at emotional control as he spoke into the microphone once more.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention once again, please...thank you. In a moment Mr. Gleason will announce the names of the six lucky finalists. In the meanwhile, I think all our charming contestants deserve to know how much we appreciate their participation—don't you think?" He led the applause that welled up for all thirteen of the young women while Leslie crossed the floor just in front of the stage and handed the ballots to Nick Gleason. Turning away, she started back for her chair, glanced up and saw Roarke's gaze shift from the group of contestants to the end of the stage where she had just been, and glanced over her shoulder. Angelica Baker had sidled over to Gleason and was muttering to him behind a pasted-on smile.

Leslie scowled, detouring from her original path to mount the stage and stand beside Roarke. "There she goes," she muttered, even as Gleason's cheerful expression changed into an apprehensive scowl. "She's about to blackmail him. I wish I'd hidden behind a plant or something, like she did this morning."

Roarke eyed her and noted, "I'm sure you're well aware that Miss Baker would have waited till you were no longer within earshot to make her demands—if, indeed, that's what she's doing."

"She couldn't possibly be doing anything else," Leslie protested. "And what in the world is Tina Evans doing in this pageant anyway, when she ought to be disqualified?"

"Her mother's doing," Roarke murmured. "I'll explain more later. Right now..."

Angelica sidled away from Gleason at that point, and Gleason opened the stacked ballots Leslie had given him, studying them for a moment before putting on another blandly cheerful mask and pulling a microphone toward him. "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we've all been waiting for," he began, making Leslie ruminate over how hackneyed this phrase was before Gleason's voice filled the room again. "The six finalists of the Fantasy Island beauty pageant. Ladies, as I call your name, please step forward. Miss Carol Henderson." The lone African-American girl in the group beamed in delight and made her way to the front of the stage; Leslie joined in the applause, genuinely glad this was happening, for she had always disliked beauty pageants on principle for their general bias toward Caucasian women. _The times, they might be a-changin',_ she thought hopefully.

"Miss Laurie Wallace," said Gleason, and a tall, slender blonde reacted, following Carol Henderson to the front of the stage. "Miss Norma Adams."

This was the beautiful blonde girl whom Angelica Baker had been muttering to that morning before the competition had officially gotten under way. Leslie liked her looks; she had long silvery-gold hair arranged in a side ponytail that fell over her left shoulder, and there was a certain eagerness and even a touch of innocence in her overjoyed reaction to being chosen as a finalist.

Next, "Miss Susan March" was called up front—another sweet-faced brunette in a magenta one-piece swimsuit. Leslie found herself hoping there was some chance that both Tina Evans and the undeserving (in her opinion, at least) Angelica Baker would be eliminated and save the entire shebang from becoming one enormous drama-laden controversy. But then her hopes were dashed as Gleason announced, "Miss Tina Evans." Both Leslie and Roarke applauded, and Leslie, glancing at her adoptive father, tried to match his neutral expression, though she could see a certain reserve in his smile all the same.

Leslie's heart sank when Gleason called out, "Miss Angelica Baker." Angelica sauntered up front with a smug beam on her face; Leslie gave the unheeding young woman a couple of seconds' worth of disgusted glare before noticing movement in her peripheral vision. She turned to see Lawrence shift in his chair and hike one eyebrow in Angelica Baker's direction, and suddenly felt as if she had an ally in her disapproval.

Angelica took three or four steps to Gleason's side and murmured something to him; Gleason covered the mike and muttered back, gazing at the audience with a vacuous smile while displaying the ballots at the woman. Leslie deduced that he was proving her name had actually been on the list of legitimately chosen finalists, and couldn't stop a small smirk from sliding across her face before she shifted her attention to the other five finalists, trying to decide whom she would choose were she on the judges' panel. Roarke, however, noticed Angelica mutter at Gleason, this time with a distinctly threatening expression on her face, before rejoining the lineup at the front of the stage—leaving Nick Gleason with a torn and horrified expression on his face.


	13. Chapter 13

**§ § § - December 11, 1983**

After breakfast the following morning, Leslie was given the task of taking a bucketful of outgoing mail to the island's post office, and carried this out with dispatch, returning with an almost equal amount of incoming mail. Lugging the bin along the lane where she'd emerged via a shortcut path from the Ring Road just outside town limits, she heard voices, and glanced around to see that the area set aside for Marion Sommers' drama workshop was occupied—by the actress herself, who was talking to Ellie Woods. They were sitting at a small table, deep in conversation, and Leslie feared being caught eavesdropping; so she picked up her pace a bit, trying to move past them without disturbing them. But then she heard Ellie say, "Well, Bill and I were abandoned."

 _Uh-oh,_ Leslie thought, and hesitated behind the seven-foot tropical flowering bush that Roarke had had planted at the corner of the lane and the front walk leading to the porch. _The truth will out. Well, at least some of it, anyway..._

"I _could_ draw on that," Ellie went on, "if I could remember it."

"You and Bill were abandoned?" Marion asked after a moment, her voice soft and sad, as if she were stunned by this little revelation.

"Yeah, I wasn't even a year old, and Bill was four. He says he remembers a lot, but I don't remember anything. I don't even remember being adopted."

After a pause, Marion asked, "What would you do now if your natural mother walked into your life?" Leslie squeezed her eyes closed at that. _Stop pushing!_ she thought, but she knew Marion would go on prodding no matter what rules Roarke had laid down for her.

Leslie nearly missed Ellie's response. "Think I'd seen a ghost." Ellie's voice sounded amused; a few seconds later it carried an overtone of sadness. "She died a couple of years after she put us up for adoption."

"Died?" came Marion's perplexed, unhappy echo.

"Yeah, she had a heart attack. It's terrible to say, but...it didn't make any difference to me."

"And Bill?" Marion managed.

"I'm not sure. I think he always expects people to run out on him. He's never even had a girlfriend..."

At that point Leslie noticed Roarke and Lawrence approaching from the other end of the lane, and watched them pause beside Marion and Ellie's table. "Working overtime?" Roarke inquired.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Marion, I didn't mean to take up so much of your time," Ellie exclaimed, and Leslie took the opportunity to make a hurried dash out from behind the bush and onto the porch. As she was closing the door, she squinted warily toward the clearing and let out a small relieved sigh when she saw that no one was looking in her direction. _Not that Mr. Roarke would've missed me taking off like a guilty rabbit,_ she reflected, but that didn't bother her; she was more concerned with not having Lawrence notice. She closed the door and carried the bin of mail to the desk, busying herself with sorting out letters from bills.

She was almost halfway through the bin when Roarke walked in, a preoccupied frown on his face. He came back from his reverie when he saw Leslie, though. "What did you hear?"

Leslie shot him a dirty look but didn't bother prevaricating. "I heard Ellie tell Marion what Mrs. Woods must've told her and Bill about their natural mother—that she died of a heart attack. I wonder why Mrs. Woods would say that. I mean, don't you think she'd figure that a lie like that would backfire on her someday?"

"Quite likely not," Roarke observed, rounding the desk and taking his chair. "What with Miss Sommers' fame, Mrs. Woods probably felt that it made the lady unreachable, therefore much reducing the chance that her lie would be exposed. Unfortunately, she failed to anticipate Miss Sommers' change of heart in regard to the children."

"Heart?" repeated Leslie skeptically. "Really?"

Roarke fixed her with a deeply concerned expression. "Yes, my dear Leslie, _heart_. For Miss Sommers just gave Ellie a very expensive gift of jewelry, and she has let it be known that she's already deeply involved, emotionally. Bill and Ellie, I'm afraid, are in for a shock before the day is out."

"Oh, great," Leslie mumbled. She met Roarke's gaze and added, "I don't care so much about the emotional fallout for Mrs. Woods and Miss Sommers. I like Bill and Ellie, and it's not fair that they're going to get caught in the crossfire and get hurt—by both their mothers. With Bill's trust issues, he might be pushed too far to ever recover after the truth comes out, and Ellie...well, who knows what'll happen to Ellie's dream of being an actress?"

"I daresay you yourself are rather emotionally involved, young lady, despite my occasional admonitions to take care to avoid it." Roarke sat back in his chair and let the words sink in for a minute or two; Leslie sighed, remembering too late the various previous fantasies that had touched her in such a way that she'd been drawn in before she could stop it. Then Roarke added more gently, "But I suspect you may not be able to help yourself, at least to a certain extent. It's my belief that you are an empath, Leslie. While this can be a very good thing in the position you hold, you must learn to take care that it doesn't control you to such an extent that you are overwhelmed every time you witness a fantasy that holds some parallel to your own life and circumstances. And I'm afraid I cannot teach you how, other than to caution you. You'll have to find your own equilibrium."

"And what if I never do?" Leslie asked, troubled.

But Roarke smiled. "I think you will, my child. It will simply take time and maturation, that's all." He let a few beats elapse, then checked his gold pocket watch. "Leave that till later; Lawrence and I have been asked to show the pageant contestants around this end of the island. There are enough young ladies that we'll need three rovers, so I'll need you as a driver."

They spent the rest of the morning taking the contestants around the resort and as far west as the Enclave and its marina on the southern side of the island; Leslie was grateful that Roarke made certain to keep Angelica Baker in his group whenever they were driving to the next destination. They ended up in the enormous greensward, not far from the Japanese teahouse, that had been carved through a swath of the jungle on the western side of the luau clearing. Just as Roarke expressed the hope that the contestants had enjoyed their little tour, Nick Gleason strode past them and said with a clap of the hands, "All right, girls, get into your rehearsal clothes. You can rest later."

The women departed, and a few male guests who'd been lingering nearby, ogling them, arose from the side of a classical-design fountain and wandered reluctantly away. Gleason turned to Roarke, Leslie and Lawrence, and said bluntly, "I think I have a big problem."

"I don't think the males of the world would agree, sir," Lawrence commented, "if you'll pardon the observation." Roarke smiled indulgently, without missing Leslie's brief look of annoyance in Lawrence's direction. She still thought beauty pageants were thoroughly sexist, and whenever such an event was held on the island, her devout hope was renewed that someday a woman or two would send in a fantasy request to have a male beauty contest that treated them exactly the way women were treated in such competitions.

Gleason's voice brought her out of her musings. "Well, maybe not. But this involves my daughter being in the contest. Another contestant—Angelica Baker—she knows that Tina's my daughter."

Roarke nodded, adding, "And she's threatened to tell all unless she's the winner. Yes, Leslie filled me in on what she saw, both yesterday morning and at the semi-finals last evening."

"I see," said Gleason. "Yeah, Angelica plans to talk. To the press, to the world. And with my background, they'll have a field day."

"It seems you'll have to make a choice, Mr. Gleason," Roarke noted gravely. "A very difficult choice."

Gleason's anxiety and stress radiated from his face. "Yes," he muttered, then spoke up more firmly. "Yes, I will." He turned and strode away, as if having made some decision.

His hosts watched him go, and Lawrence queried, "What do you think he's going to do, sir?"

Roarke sighed and admitted, "I'm not sure, Lawrence...but under the circumstances, it's quite possible he's going to break his daughter's heart."

"You said her mother pushed her into entering the contest," Leslie reminded him, "and you were going to explain it to me, but we didn't get a chance to talk."

"The Gleasons have been divorced for many years, and Mrs. Gleason is highly antagonistic toward her ex-husband. Her attitude has leached onto their daughter, so it was easy for Mrs. Gleason to persuade Tina to enter the contest under Mrs. Gleason's maiden name of Evans. And the lady has no problem whatsoever with playing on Mr. Gleason's love for his daughter and his hopes to make it up to her for his many absences as she was growing up."

"She's taking advantage of his fantasy and putting him through a gigantic guilt trip so Tina'll win the pageant," Leslie summarized. "She may love her daughter, but that's still vindictive."

"And if Mr. Gleason has to remove Tina from the contest," Lawrence said, "it will only reinforce the young lady's resentment of her father. Regrettable, but there it is."

"Funny how it seems hate's stronger than love, so much of the time," Leslie murmured, watching the shrinking figure of Nick Gleason as he strode across the vast swath of manicured grass toward the Ring Road in the near distance. She knew Lawrence and Roarke exchanged glances at that, but she didn't care, only wishing she could understand what drove some people to do some of the ugly deeds they committed.

‡ ‡ ‡

About an hour after lunch, with Lawrence out making rounds and Leslie opening the sorted mail, Fran Woods appeared at the French shutters and caught Roarke's attention. "Could I speak with you for a moment?" she asked.

"Certainly," Roarke replied, arising and following her onto the flagstone patio.

Mrs. Woods turned to him without further preamble once they were out there and said, "Mr. Roarke, I came here for only one reason." If she thought she and Roarke had any privacy on his lanai, Leslie thought, she was mistaken; every word was clearly audible inside the house. "Mr. Roarke, something very strange is going on around here. It was one thing for Marion Sommers to guess that Bill is crazy for, uh, peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches." She tossed Roarke a faintly sheepish grin, while Leslie wondered if Bill idolized Elvis Presley or something. "But she called Ellie 'Mary Ellen', and even Ellen doesn't know that that's the name that appears on her original birth certificate. And the mother's name on that birth certificate is Marion." Her voice had grown shakier as she spoke. "Now, sometimes, actresses do change their last names, don't they?"

Roarke hesitated a moment, then confirmed in a low voice, "Yes, they do."

"Well, I want to know who Marion Sommers really is," Fran Woods told him.

"Mrs. Woods, it appears to me that you already know," Roarke said. "Marion Sommers is Ellie's, and Bill's, natural mother."

"How could you?" Mrs. Woods demanded.

"Now, please—" Roarke began, and had to override Mrs. Woods' loud protest of rising outrage before he could continue. "Please, please. In arranging Miss Sommers' fantasy, my agreement with her was that she merely _meet_ the children. That's all. And under no circumstances would she ever reveal her true identity to them."

In the silence that fell, Leslie heard the sound of a doorknob turning, and looked around in time to see Lawrence usher in another guest. "Miss Sommers, sir," he announced formally, catching both Roarke's and Mrs. Woods' attention. Leslie sat up straight behind the desk.

Lawrence escorted the actress as far as the French shutters, paused there and executed a half-bow, and departed without another word; Leslie watched him go, then hunched over the mail, dreading the coming confrontation. Sure enough, Fran Woods started toward the actress. "Marion! I know who you are, and I'm warning you—you say one word to Ellie and Bill and I'll—"

"And you'll what?" Marion cut her off, clearly in an equally confrontational mood. "I'm grateful to you, Fran, you've done a magnificent job with them; but now it's my turn."

"Your turn?" echoed Fran with a bitter half-laugh. "How dare you!"

"Miss Sommers," Roarke put in warningly, "need I remind you of our agreement?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Roarke," Marion said coldly, shifting her gaze back to Fran. "I'm not leaving Fantasy Island without _my_ children." She fielded Fran's horrified glare, then added, "And I won't let anyone stand in my way." She held both their gazes long enough to drive home her point, then turned and stalked out of the house through the foyer.

Leslie watched her go, thinking, _The nerve of her! Just because she's rich and famous, she thinks she can take her kids away from the only life they know!_ She watched Mrs. Woods turn and flee the patio, brushing past Roarke as she ran, then sighed and shook her head.

Roarke gazed after Fran Woods for a minute or two before returning inside, one slow, thoughtful step at a time. He looked up and noticed Leslie's expression. "I know, Leslie, I know—it's Bill and Ellie who will be caught in the crossfire, as you said."

"And it really is a fight now," Leslie agreed. "Isn't there anything you can do to stop it?"

"No, unfortunately," Roarke said, "despite that I am the law here. The applicable laws would be those in California, where Miss Sommers lives, and Arizona, where the children live with their adoptive parents." He stopped beside the desk, looking contemplative for a minute or two; then he focused on Leslie and smiled. "But my suspicion is that neither Miss Sommers nor Mrs. Woods will cast the deciding vote. That belongs to Ellie and Bill." He winked, and for the first time she smiled.

‡ ‡ ‡

But Roarke wasn't finished with Marion Sommers; he felt, quite rightly, that he'd been duped, and he made no bones about letting the actress know how great his disapproval and disappointment were. "Miss Sommers, you promised me that you wouldn't do what you obviously intended all along _to_ do." They were crossing the expansive, rolling back lawn and a brick-paved terrace belonging to one of the huge Enclave estates, where Marion was staying for the weekend.

"I swear to you, I thought I would be content with seeing the children," Marion said; to her credit, Roarke heard a note of distress in her tone. "But having seen them, and having had a taste of what it would be like to have them with me...I must have them back."

"You do know that Mrs. Woods asked me to arrange for their departure this morning," said Roarke.

"I can't let them go. I won't let them go," Marion said stubbornly.

Just then Fran Woods caught up with them, trailed by a somewhat frantic Lawrence. "Mr. Roarke," she called, "I've packed for all of us. When can we leave?"

"Lawrence?" Roarke prompted.

"The seaplane departs tomorrow, sir," Lawrence informed him.

 _At the regular departure hour,_ Roarke filled in, and nodded. This fantasy would have to play out to its end, whatever that might be. "Thank you. Will you excuse me?" he inquired, and nodded once more to Lawrence, this time to follow him. Behind them, both men could hear the beginnings of a loud and angry argument between the two women.

"Are you in a hurry, sir?" Lawrence asked, already panting in an effort to keep up with Roarke.

"I'm scheduled to meet with Mr. Gleason to finalize details of tonight's pageant," Roarke told him. "I hope you didn't send the driver away."

"I did," Lawrence admitted. "I thought you had a car here. I suppose we could call Leslie and ask her to come for us."

Roarke chuckled. "We'll have to. Once she arrives, I'll have her drop you off at the theater in town. I'll need you to oversee the preparations for the pageant tonight while I track down Mr. Gleason and see to it that everything else is in place...and to ask him about the progress of his fantasy."

After Leslie had let Lawrence off in town, she peered at Roarke. "Is everything still a mess in both fantasies?" she asked.

Roarke gave her an odd look. "Perhaps it depends upon exactly what you mean by 'a mess'," he said, and she shrugged. "Mrs. Woods and Miss Sommers will have to work out their own differences, although I have no doubt that Ellie and Bill will have their say. And Mr. Gleason has not only his hostile ex-wife to deal with, but his estrangement from their daughter as well. So, yes, you could call both situations a mess, but things often have a way of working themselves out, as you should well know after four and a half years of watching me conduct my business."

Leslie grinned and parked the car alongside the edge of the greensward; at the eastern side there was a beautifully manicured area patterned after a Japanese garden, with Polynesian and Western elements mixed in amongst the immaculate red-lacquered bridges built over small streams and a few koi ponds. The teahouse occupied the exact center of the garden plot. It was here that Roarke and Leslie were told, by one of the native girls in Roarke's employ, that Nick Gleason had been seen on one of the paths minutes ago. They thanked her, and just as they rounded a manicured bush, Tina Evans brushed by them, nearly knocking Leslie over, and scurried away without a word. Leslie watched her go, surprised by Tina's rudeness, but letting it pass and following Roarke over to where Nick Gleason stood staring after Tina with a desolate look on his face.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Gleason?" Roarke asked.

"No, Mr. Roarke, it isn't," Gleason said straight out.

"Oh," Roarke mused. "Did you tell your daughter to withdraw from the pageant?"

Gleason nodded. "But I've changed my mind about that."

"Oh?" said Roarke again, this time quizzically.

"Now I'm gonna show her how much I really love her."

"Doesn't she already know that?" Roarke protested in surprise.

"No," said Gleason with a small headshake. "But she will...after I make sure she wins the Fantasy Island Girl title." His voice thinned out, as if he were on the edge of losing emotional control, and he lingered only long enough to see Roarke's expression flatten into startled disapproval before leaving them behind.

"Well, so much for that fantasy," Leslie muttered.

Roarke watched till Gleason disappeared behind some shrubbery; then he turned to his daughter and smiled. "Perhaps not. There's the afternoon and evening yet, and the crowning of the contest winner. Give it a chance."

Leslie shrugged. "If you say so. Oh, by the way..." Her mood lifted. "Ellie and Bill Woods came by while you and Lawrence were out, and said they're having a party at their bungalow tonight. They want me to come, and said I should invite any friends I wanted to." She grinned at his curious expression. "I called Maureen and she said she can make it, so we're both getting all glammed up and looking forward to this thing."

"It's good to hear you're including Maureen," Roarke remarked. "I know you've seen little of her since the rest of your friends departed for college a few months ago."

"Yeah—Maureen's busy a lot of the time with her mother's catering service, but she says she really likes it, the same way I like working in your business. So we figure that just means we have loads to talk about whenever we _can_ get together." Roarke chuckled at that, and she grinned back. "It should be fun anyway. Kids around our age, great music, good eats...who could ask for more?"

"I suppose it would be difficult to do that," Roarke agreed indulgently. "What time does this party begin?"

"About half an hour after the pageant ends," Leslie said. "So I can be at both places."

"Very well. You might want to go through my costume stock," Roarke suggested, "and find something glamorous for the pageant; then you can wear the same gown to the party."

So Leslie found herself accompanying Roarke and Lawrence to the theater, clad in a shimmering seafoam-green gown with a gold chain belt around the waist. She wore her emerald-stud earrings and a bracelet set with multicolored gems that had been a birthday gift from Roarke the previous year, and had even gone to a salon in town to have her hair styled and her face made up for the events of the evening. Lawrence joined the other four judges at their table, while Roarke—clad in elegant black tails with a white bow tie—stood nearby at stage right, with Leslie at his side. She was feeling pretty good about herself right now; Lawrence had actually complimented her on her attire, hairstyle and makeup job, and while she knew she would never match up to the beauty contestants, she was perfectly content with the way she looked. The other judges complimented her as well, and she was still basking in the glow of their comments when a slim young blonde approached them, wearing a glittering white gown with gleaming black stripes running diagonally along the bodice and creating a rectangular pattern on the skirt, the last of the contestants to arrive at the venue for the crowning. It was Tina Evans, and Roarke extended a hand to her, helping her up onto the stage where she would join the other five finalists awaiting the verdict.

"Well," he said warmly as Tina stepped up, "Miss Evans, you must be very thrilled. Let me be the first to congratulate you."

Tina released an uncertain little chuckle. "For what, Mr. Roarke?"

Roarke cast a glance back at the judges and Leslie, then took Tina aside a step or two. "For winning the Fantasy Island Girl contest, of course!" he explained to her, his voice low but still just audible to Leslie, who stood closest. The judges were just far enough away from her vantage point to be out of Roarke's earshot.

Again Tina reacted with a nervous half-chuckle. "I'm sorry, I don't understand..." She looked away for a moment, betraying her extreme unease. "The judges are still voting..."

"Oh...just a formality," Roarke assured her, waving a hand back and forth in dismissal. "I'm surprised your father hasn't already told you that he's putting in the _fix_...as they say." He gave Tina a broad, knowing grin, all but winking outrageously.

Tina stared at him. "What're you talking about?"

"It's really quite simple. After collecting the individual judges' ballots and tabulating the vote, only your father and his assistant will know the combined score. And no matter who gets the most votes, your father will simply read your name as the winner." Roarke beamed at her again.

Tina's voice was cold. "Oh no, Mr. Roarke, I'm afraid you've got it all wrong. My father would never do anything like that for me."

Roarke shook his head and advised her, "Oh yes, he would. It seems he's apparently obsessed with doing something tangible to prove he loves you." All traces of levity were gone now; as Tina eyed him, he went on, "Unfortunately, when the truth comes out—and it always does—he could be ruined. However, knowing how you feel about your father, that is of no concern to you, is it?" Though he still smiled, his tones were chilly. Tina looked away again and hitched her shoulders in discomfort, her icy façade beginning to crack despite her attempt to maintain it. "No," Roarke murmured, as if confirming her unspoken answer. "Well, again...my congratulations."

Leslie noticed tears gleaming in Tina's eyes for just a second before the young woman turned away from Roarke and headed for the stage, at a much slower pace now. Roarke watched her go; then both he and Leslie heard other voices as Leslie fell in beside him again, and watched Gleason having an intense conversation with Linda, his assistant. Linda looked outraged for a moment, and Leslie realized she must be only just finding out what Gleason's plan was. She exchanged a glance with Roarke and let out a sigh, shaking her head slightly.

Gleason spoke into his microphone: "Ladies and gentlemen, the big moment has arrived." A fanfare played, and Roarke's expression grew almost grim as he watched the proceedings. "First, the runners-up, then the big winner..." Leslie caught sight of Tina Evans then; the blonde looked highly uncomfortable, breathing hard, her eyes darting from one face to another. As her gaze bounced toward Roarke and Leslie, she realized they were both watching her, and she looked hastily away, shifting her weight.

"The third runner-up in the Fantasy Island Girl beauty pageant is Miss Carol Henderson." The African-American woman, in a white and silver gown with wide bric-a-brac stripes, accepted a trophy, smiling brightly.

"The second runner-up, Laurie Wallace." More applause and another trophy; Tina Evans clapped briefly, but her face remained solemn, almost cold, her eyes still unable to rest on any one point for more than half a second. "And the first runner-up is—"

"Wait," Tina blurted at that moment, and Leslie yanked her spine up straight with surprise. Tina walked over to Gleason and said firmly, "Thank you, Daddy, but you don't have to prove anything to me." Gleason started to protest, but she shook her head sharply just once, then grabbed the microphone before he had a chance to say anything more. "Ladies and gentlemen, for personal reasons, I'm going to withdraw as a contestant." Voices rose in perplexed babble; one woman, sitting alone at a table up front, closed her eyes in pure defeat, and Leslie realized that must be Tina's mother. Roarke's grim expression eased, just enough for Leslie to see the slightest smile stretching his lips and a faint twinkle of warm approval in his dark eyes.

"Thank you for all your support," Tina went on, "and to whoever wins, congratulations." On the stage, Angelica Baker lifted her chin a little; there was still that perpetual expression of smugness about her, but now there was a touch of uncertainty tainting it. _Let her not win anything,_ Leslie found herself thinking, knowing it wasn't very nice, but unable to help herself. She managed at least not to say the words out loud.

Tina turned to her father and murmured, away from the mike, "It's all right, Daddy," then turned and scurried away into the stage-right wings, past Roarke and Leslie. Roarke beckoned Leslie along with a gesture, approaching a bewildered Gleason.

"If you hurry, I think you can catch up with your daughter, Mr. Gleason," Roarke said quietly.

Gleason shot one glance over Roarke's shoulder, then murmured a thanks and hurried off to pursue Tina, handing Roarke the ballots before he went. With a smile, Roarke took Gleason's place at the microphone and turned to Leslie. "Go ahead and gather up the crown and flowers there," he instructed her, nodding towards the items which lay on a small table nearby. "When I announce the winner, you can present them to her."

"Okay," Leslie agreed, trying to sneak a glance at the ballots but unable to see them. She gave up and ducked behind Roarke, lifting the enormous bouquet and the crown, crossing her fingers underneath the flowers.


	14. Chapter 14

**§ § § - December 11, 1983**

Roarke turned to the audience and smoothly took over where Gleason had left off. "Ladies and gentlemen, we haven't finished our business yet," he said cheerfully. "Ah, there seems to be a tie for the first runner-up. Miss Tina Evans is tied with Miss Angelica Baker."

 _Ha,_ Leslie thought gleefully, watching a native girl approach a shocked and dismayed Angelica with a trophy. At the judges' table, Lawrence clapped, but overtly without enthusiasm, and she snickered to herself. Angelica Baker didn't deserve first runner-up, or any runner-up at all, Leslie still felt, but at least she hadn't won the pageant.

"And the winner, the Fantasy Island Girl, is...Miss Norma Adams," Roarke announced with a broad smile. The pretty silver-blonde lit with delight and astonishment, and Leslie was thrilled to be able to walk onto the stage and present Norma Adams with the roses and set the crown carefully atop her head.

"Congratulations," Leslie said, truly meaning it.

"Thank you, Leslie, you and Mr. Roarke _and_ Mr. Gleason," Norma replied and slipped an arm across the younger girl's shoulders long enough to squeeze. Leslie nodded and stepped back, then retreated to join Roarke at stage right while all the attention was lavished on the deserving winner.

"Next time," Leslie remarked, "the winner ought to be a local girl. It just makes sense to me."

Roarke laughed. "Perhaps so," he said, "but of course, that all depends on two things: who enters the contest, and whether we ever have another Fantasy Island Girl pageant." She joined in his laughter at that, and glanced back at Lawrence, who was just getting up and coming over to join them.

"The right girl won," Lawrence said with enormous approval.

"I believe you're right," Roarke concurred.

"I think so too," Leslie chimed in, then scowled. "But who in the heck voted for Angelica Baker so that she got first runner-up? She should've been disqualified completely."

"As much as I agree with you on that point, miss," Lawrence remarked darkly, "I was only one judge, and though I gave Miss Baker no points at all, the others thought quite highly of her, enough to elevate her to first-runner-up level. We will simply have to be content with the fact that she did not achieve her objective."

Roarke chuckled at that, then turned to Leslie. "Now that the pageant has ended, perhaps you'd like to hurry out now and pick up Maureen for Bill and Ellie Woods' party," he suggested.

In a little over half an hour, Leslie and Maureen had pulled up in front of the Enclave mansion where Marion Summers was staying; since the Woods youngsters had wanted to invite her to their party, Marion had decided it should be held there. "Leslie, I think you're overdressed," Maureen remarked, surveying the glittering seafoam-hued gown. "I mean, it can't be that glamorous."

"Oh, quit being a party pooper," Leslie said with a grin. "I just came out of the Fantasy Island Girl pageant, and we all had to look glamorous for that. And there wasn't time to change—not that I necessarily wanted to." Maureen blew her a raspberry and both girls laughed, walking briskly into the mansion and following a butler to the room where the party was in full swing. Bill, wearing a powder-blue tux, and Ellie, clad in a layered pink silk dress with glittering silver accents, welcomed Leslie, greeted Maureen with friendly grins when Leslie introduced her, and showed both girls where the buffet was, urging them to join the dancing.

"They're cute!" Maureen said. "Who are they?"

"Weekend guests," Leslie said, and briefly filled her friend in on the fantasy of which they were the focus. "Recognize the blonde lady over there?"

Maureen peered through a wide opening into the next room and gasped. "Isn't that Marion Sommers? Omigod, what's she doing here?"

"It's her fantasy," Leslie said. "I can tell you more tomorrow. For right now, let's just have fun, okay?" Maureen agreed, but Leslie knew she'd undergo a hefty grilling the next day, and she grinned, not minding a bit.

The party lasted another three hours, till the buffet had been decimated and the other attendees had been picked up by their parents to be taken home. Maureen and Leslie had lingered, chatting with Ellie and Bill for a while; then, seeing that all the others were gone, the Woods siblings excused themselves and hurried off to talk to Marion and to their adoptive mother, who stood facing each other in the adjoining room as if having just had words. Leslie suspected they had; she had a feeling she and Maureen should be leaving, but as she started to pull her friend toward the door, the lights in the hallway outside went out. "Oops," said Maureen softly.

Leslie kept her voice low too; it seemed too loud, all the same, in the absence of the music and the chattering, laughing voices that had filled the air mere moments ago. "Just stay here with me near the door. Once the butler sees the rover's still here, he'll come up for us and show us the way out."

That, however, gave both girls ringside seats for what then occurred. Ellie and Bill trotted down the three steps into the adjacent room, beaming. "Hi, Marion," Bill said.

"We're so glad you could come," Ellie added fervently.

"I had to," Marion said excitedly. "This is a special occasion, and I have something very special to tell you both." She pulled the surprised brother and sister aside, though there was no real privacy in the room, and faced them with a determined look.

"Now, this might come as a bit of a shock," she began. "Well, let me put it this way. What if I were to tell you that you both are about to receive an inheritance?"

Bill looked blank; Ellie seemed puzzled, glancing at her brother before asking, "You mean like that place in the country Grandma left to Mom?"

"Well, this would be even more involved than that," Marion said. "With this inheritance, you could buy anything you want. Would you like that?"

"Like it? Yeah, who wouldn't?" exclaimed Bill, lighting up; Ellie grinned, and Leslie saw Fran's head start to droop.

"That's super," Ellie agreed, then added hesitantly, "but who died?"

"Nobody died," Marion said, and Leslie caught the hidden meaning in the two words, biting her lip. She became aware of Maureen's inquisitive gaze on her, but refused to take her eyes off the unfolding scene.

"Wait a minute," Bill began. "How do we inherit something from somebody who didn't die?"

"Oh, you were told that she died, but she didn't. I'm talking about...your mother." She took in the bewildered stares on both Ellie and Bill; the two looked at each other, then over their shoulders at Fran, whose head drooped a little more. Leslie could see that the meaning of Marion's words was dawning on them now.

Ellie turned back to Marion, and Leslie could just hear her say, "My mom?"

"The woman who gave birth to you," Marion said with a slight nod. "Who loved you deeply. Whose heart was broken when she had to give you away."

"What're you saying?" Bill muttered, but there was something in his voice that told Leslie he already half knew the answer to his own question. "My real mother is dead."

"No, she isn't," Marion told him gently, gazing at him. "It's me."

Bill stared at her, then looked at Ellie, who breathed, "You?"

"Yes, Ellie...I'm your mother," Marion reiterated with a slight, hopeful smile. "Your real mother."

Bill made a strangled little sound, then turned to Fran with a betrayed look and began, "But you...told us..."

Fran nodded and murmured, "I'm sorry. At the time I thought it was...it was for the best." Even Ellie looked betrayed at that, but Bill seemed on the edge of tears.

"Then it's true," he said in a small, brittle voice.

"Yes," Fran whispered, anguished. "Marion is your natural mother."

The siblings turned back to stare at Marion, who seized the advantage and said, "Ellie, I want you and Bill to come home with me. You're my children; I want you back."

Leslie wondered what Marion had thought Bill's and Ellie's reactions would be, but she was sure it hadn't been what they exhibited now. "Why are you doing this?" Bill asked, still brittle-voiced, full of shock and pure bewilderment. "Now, after all this time?"

"I want a chance to make up for all those years I was away," Marion entreated. "I can give you so much. Let me show you how happy I can make you both." _With money,_ thought Leslie, folding both lips in between her teeth to keep from commenting. Maureen's attention had been drawn by the little drama playing out before them, and she was speechless, green eyes huge and mouth open. "Give me that chance," Marion pleaded hopefully, though Leslie had the feeling she expected both kids to fall right in with her plans for them.

"Ever since I met you," Bill began, dazed, "I felt that there was something...about you..." His voice trailed off as he stared and stared at Marion, clearly trying to see her in this new role. "Something..."

"Oh, Bill," Marion exclaimed and started forward to hug him.

But Bill held her off, freezing her where she stood. "But—" Startled, Marion stepped back, and Bill pressed his advantage. "You can't just drop in here out of the blue, and offer us the world, and think that's gonna change everything."

"Bill, I'm your real mother," Marion said again, this time as if issuing a reprimand.

The boy and girl looked at each other again; then Ellie said, quietly but determinedly, "No, you're not. We _have_ a real mother."

Marion's eyes widened just a little; her expression barely changed, yet suddenly she was no longer commanding and expectant, but startled and even a bit frightened. Bill and Ellie turned from her and both walked into Fran Woods' embrace; Fran, silent, wrapped an arm around each of them. For a moment Marion hung there, then gave up and left the room through another door, disappearing.

"Come on," Leslie whispered to Maureen, pulling her friend into the still-dark hallway and groping her way along toward a faint light at the other end.

"How sad," Maureen muttered finally, as Leslie was tugging her through the door into an enormous marble-floored foyer with curving stairways and an ornate chandelier that had been turned low to cast a subtle, deep-amber glow on the walls. "That's just so _sad._ Being rejected by your own kids. I hope that never happens to any of us."

Leslie led her out the door and to the rover; not till she was driving back down the access lane toward the Ring Road did she speak. "I hope so too, but the fact is that Marion Sommers gave up her kids for adoption fourteen years ago because she was too fixated on her movie career and couldn't afford to keep them. At least, that's the way I see it. You should've been there to hear the reasons she gave Mr. Roarke for wanting them back, yesterday morning. She said she could afford them now, and her career wouldn't be ruined by the scandal of being a single mother. Not one word about loving or missing them."

Maureen released a low whistle through her teeth. "Well, that _is_ kind of harsh, but still..."

"I know. It hit her hard, but I think she needed to learn the lesson that after all those years, Bill and Ellie couldn't just change their allegiances to her from the mother they grew up with. Looks to me like she did learn it." Leslie sighed, turning onto the Ring Road. "I hope Bill and Ellie don't have any hard feelings about it. Anyway, at least it was a really great party."

"Yeah, I haven't had that much fun since Myeko's last Halloween party," Maureen agreed with a laugh, seeming relieved to have the subject changed. "I still think you were overdressed."

 _"I_ think everybody else was _under_ dressed," Leslie shot back with a smirk, and both girls laughed as Leslie negotiated the turn onto the Old Swamp Road that bisected the island, heading for the northern arm of the Ring Road toward Maureen's house.

Another half hour passed before she got home, partly due to a short conversation she had with Maureen's parents to catch them up on how things were going; she found Roarke there, still dressed in the tuxedo he had worn to play emcee for the Fantasy Island Girl pageant. He looked up as she came in, and smiled. "Ah, there you are. How was the party?"

"It was great," Leslie said, "right up till the end, anyway." She explained what she and Maureen had witnessed. "I guess she finally understands Bill's and Ellie's viewpoints now."

"Unfortunate that it had to be impressed in such a manner, but too often we can learn a lesson in no other way," Roarke said, rising. "Let's take a little stroll and see if we can find Miss Sommers."

It didn't take them long; Marion was sitting on a white-painted wrought-iron bench in a small clearing at a junction of two paths. Leslie hung back a few feet while Roarke paused to lean on the back of the bench, on the side where Marion wasn't sitting. "Good evening, Miss Sommers," he greeted her when she peered at him over her left shoulder.

Marion barely quirked a corner of her mouth in response before turning away from him and murmuring listlessly, "No, it's not a good evening, I'm afraid. The children chose Mrs. Woods. It's all over."

Leslie thought she heard foliage rustling behind her and turned around to see, much to her surprise, Fran Woods, with Bill and Ellie one on either side of her, all still wearing their party clothes. Roarke saw her movement, glanced up and spied the newcomers, and said gently, "Not quite all over." He gestured with a nod of his head, and Marion turned to stare; Fran gently nudged Ellie and Bill forward, and they slowly approached Marion as the actress stood up and Roarke stepped back to join Leslie. Trepidation gleamed out of Marion's eyes; her children looked only slightly less apprehensive, but there was no question they had something to say.

Bill spoke first. "Marion...there's a lot of things that happen that kids don't know the reasons for. And sometimes, even if they do know the reason, it doesn't make any difference, because it's what you feel that counts."

"What Bill is trying to say is...we want you to be our friend," Ellie put in.

Bill nodded. "We'd like that, very much."

Marion took in each of them with a glance, then eyed Fran Woods, who wore a soft smile; as if she had received the seal of approval somehow, Marion spoke finally. "So would I."

"You see, Marion, nobody loses after all," Fran said gently. "We all win."

Glances, smiles and nods went all around, and Marion seemed to at last give herself permission to hug Bill and Ellie, who returned the gesture without hesitation. Roarke winked at Leslie, and they nodded a goodnight to a smiling Fran Woods before melting into the shadows.

At the main house, Leslie peered at Roarke. "What happened to Mr. Gleason and his daughter? Did they reconcile?"

"I am told they did," said Roarke. "It seems the happy endings whose occurrence you were so doubtful of came to pass after all."

"Good thing," Leslie told him pointedly, and they both laughed quietly, heading upstairs to get ready to call it a night.

 **§ § § - December 12, 1983**

Roarke, Leslie and Lawrence could hear the voices of Nick Gleason and Tina Evans inside the rover before they stepped out: "Well, so long, Dad..."

"So long, sweetheart. And remember, we have a date next week."

"Okay...bye." Tina beamed, a little shy, but clearly happy to be back on good terms with her father. He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and stepped out of the car, which pulled away.

"Well, Mr. Gleason, you got your fantasy after all, huh?" Roarke inquired, smiling.

Gleason nodded, his face wreathed with joy, erasing most of the stress lines he'd acquired over the weekend. Lawrence added, "Yes sir...an honest and hugely successful show."

"And kind of fun too," Leslie admitted willingly enough, bringing a laugh from Roarke.

"Something that makes it a lot more worthwhile: helping me get close to my daughter again. Thank you, Mr. Roarke." He shook hands with Roarke, then with Lawrence and finally with Leslie, striding off to board the charter plane. Lawrence stared at Roarke oddly as the latter man returned Gleason's wave, and Leslie wondered what was on his mind.

"Problem?" she asked him.

Lawrence cleared his throat. "I was merely wondering what happened to Angelica Baker."

"Ah," Roarke said, catching Leslie's interest in the subject as well. "She left the island last evening, while you were at the party, Leslie. I might add that she went alone; it seems, according to assorted scuttlebutt, that no one wanted to be seen with her any longer, after word somehow got out about her attempted blackmail of Mr. Gleason."

"Hmm," Lawrence mused, peering at Leslie from the corner of his eye. "I wonder how."

Leslie glared back. "Hey, I didn't like her either, but that doesn't mean I tattled on her."

"She was too busy for that," Roarke told Lawrence with a nod. "I suspect it was the island grapevine, as it so often is." Before he could say any more, the second rover appeared, bearing Marion Sommers with Bill and Ellie Woods.

They, too, had a last-minute conversation before getting out of the car. "Are you _sure_ you're gonna make it for the school play?" Ellie asked, as if she had already posed this question several times over the weekend.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Marion promised firmly, and leaned over to kiss Ellie's cheek and then Bill's, hugging them both. Drawing back, she sobered momentarily. "Oh...be good to your mother—your _other_ mother."

They both smiled, and Bill nodded; then Roarke handed Marion out of the car, and she waved after the rover as it pulled away. Roarke commented, "Your smile could light up all the world, Miss Sommers."

"I owe it all to you, Mr. Roarke—even though I didn't follow the script," Marion admitted with a bit of a blush and a sheepish look. Then she seemed to remember something. "Oh, Lawrence, I'm sorry," she went on, withdrawing a slip of paper from her purse, "but you never gave me the name of your niece in London. So I made the autograph out to you. I hope it's all right."

Lawrence accepted the page, unfolded it and read it, then looked up, smiling hugely. "Very much all right, Miss Sommers, and thank you."

Seeing the opening, Leslie produced her autograph book from one pocket—the same book, now somewhat worn and at least a third full of signatures, that Tattoo had presented her on her fourteenth birthday—and shyly offered it, along with a pen. "Speaking of autographs, I hope you don't mind signing my book," she said.

"Not at all, Leslie, of course!" Marion agreed and duly scrawled on the first blank page. Leslie read it and grinned up at her, thanking her.

"Thank _you_...and thank you, Mr. Roarke, and goodbye," Marion said, shaking his hand, popping a kiss on a startled Lawrence's cheek, and winking at Leslie before making her way across the clearing to the landing ramp. Lawrence stared after her in astonishment; Roarke eyed him sidelong, then got the full measure of the butler's starstruck expression and grinned.

"Lawrence? Lawrence..." he prodded, with some emphasis the second time. Leslie snickered.

Lawrence started slightly, but his voice sounded dreamy. "I was just thinking, sir, what a wonderful place this is. Miss Sommers came for her fantasy, and I got one in the bargain as well." He gazed down at the autographed page again; Roarke nodded, met Leslie's gaze and shared her silent chuckle as she slipped her autograph book back into her pocket.

"Too bad about the autograph for your niece, though, huh?" Roarke remarked offhandedly, watching Marion Sommers ducking her head and stepping through the seaplane's hatch.

"What niece, sir?" murmured Lawrence, all his attention on the signed paper. Roarke and Leslie both stared at him, while he waved dreamily after the now-vanished actress; they looked at each other once more and shrugged in perfect unison.

 **§ § § - June 2, 2012**

"Oh, that sneak," Christian said with a laugh. "No niece in London, hm? That seems a rather roundabout way to get an autograph. At least you were direct, my Rose."

"I think Lawrence thought being direct was some sort of breach of propriety or something," Leslie snorted, bringing on some laughter. "Anyway, it was nice to have my assumptions about Marion Sommers changed that weekend. She just needed to learn a little something."

"Exactly as you did," Roarke told her with a wink. "And now, perhaps we should begin decorating the patio for the children's birthday party, as we meant to do at least two tales back." They all laughed and got up, gathering party supplies and migrating out back.

"Daddy," Karina said then, "I remember Mother said sometimes you got to be in some fantasies too, after you got married and moved here, but before we got born. Why don't you ever tell us about any of those? Weren't there any good ones?"

Surprised, Christian laughed. "Oh, of course, there were several good ones, as a matter of fact. But we had a theme going here, didn't we? Fantasies that involved children? Well, I can think of one right this moment that fits both criteria. If my memory is correct, it was ten years ago next month." He focused on the triplets. "I think this is the fantasy that reminded your mother of her own life, for it involved twin girls, just like your two aunts on her side of the family. And I seem to remember that we had to import a few very special people to make it all happen, which required my participation in the preparations for the fantasy. In the end, though, I found myself more involved than I had expected to be, no thanks to my title—even though at the time I had given it up." He shot Leslie a mock-annoyed look.

"Don't give me that," she retorted, grinning right back. "You had fun with it, you can't deny that. At least as much fun as I had." Christian chuckled in concession.

"And we weren't born yet?" Susanna asked.

"This was a little less than two years before you three came along," Leslie explained. "Before you ask any more questions, go ahead and start tying these balloons to the chairs here, and listen to us. Then you'll get all your answers."

 **§ § § - July 13, 2002**

Since becoming her adoptive father's assistant, Leslie had noticed certain reliable patterns in the business, one of which was that summer was a boom time for fantasies involving kids. What with school out for the season, anyone with kids who intended to make a trip here almost invariably scheduled it for summer vacation nowadays. This week's guests were true to form: the charter plane's hatch first disgorged a fairly large family. "Ah, the Garrett family: a blended unit consisting of recently married parents Ross and Erica, with his children Kira and Milo, and her children Jordan, Sawyer, Flynn and Nia." As he spoke, Leslie counted the kids, but didn't see the last-named one, Nia, till all the rest of them had stepped off the disembarkation ramp onto the grass. Nia gripped her glass in both hands and took each step with exaggerated care, as if she were walking on thin ice. "They have come here," Roarke went on, "for a vacation...or so they all say."

Leslie had been watching Nia Garrett. "If I say Nia has a fantasy, do I win?"

"Very well observed, my child," Roarke said, sounding impressed. "Yes, you're right, Nia has the fantasy. She is twelve years old, and even before gaining a stepfather and two stepsiblings, she felt lost within her family. She and her brothers and sister all just completed undergoing adoption by their stepfather and a subsequent change of surname, and then the entire family moved into a new home in suburban Des Moines, Iowa. So there have been many changes in Nia's life."

"And what she wants," Leslie guessed, "is for her parents to meet up here on the island and, at least for the weekend, fall in love again or something, so she can revisit her old life."

"Not even close," said Roarke, in that half-amused tone he used to use whenever Tattoo made wild guesses and missed the mark. "Not that it could happen in any case, since Nia's father died nine years ago and she has very few memories of him. No, try again, and watch Nia carefully." He gestured toward the Garretts as he said this, and Leslie turned to peer at them in time to see the parrot on the perch just behind Nia let out a loud squawk and spread its wings in colorful display. Nia squealed, jumped and jerked away all in nearly the same second, her movements so startled and abrupt that she stumbled over her own foot, and most of the contents of her glass slopped out in a miniature tidal wave and splattered on the grass. This got the attention of all five of the other children, all of whom either laughed and pointed, or rolled their eyes. Leslie heard one of them groan in disgust, "Geez, Nia, it's just a parrot!"

Leslie blinked. "Poor girl! She's easily startled, and she's picked on by her siblings. And she's a little clumsy to boot."

"And there you have it," said Roarke. "Nia's fantasy is to become graceful. According to her, your observation about being 'a little clumsy' would be a tremendous understatement. As she said in the note she slipped in with her parents' letter and check several months ago, she is a 'hopeless klutz', and has suffered a great deal of teasing for it, both at home and in school."

"I wonder how we can help," Leslie said.

Roarke smiled. "You'll be busy this weekend, for you'll be heavily involved not only in Nia Garrett's fantasy, but also in this one." With impeccable timing, he shifted her attention to the plane, from which now were emerging three little girls and another adult couple. "The Egans: Todd and Jillian, the parents; their fraternal twin daughters, Ramona and Renata; and the twins' cousin, Delaney. The latter child was six years old last month; the twins celebrate their own sixth birthday tomorrow, and their parents are so thankful and relieved the girls have reached this milestone that they spent three years' worth of saved funds to give their children this fantasy." Roarke frowned, watching the Egans. "I had quite an argument with them over the telephone regarding the price they insisted on paying for this fantasy, and I've had to resort to some duplicity as a result."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Leslie asked, thoroughly mystified.

"Ramona and Renata have just received cancer-remission diagnoses from their pediatrician," said Roarke. "They had different forms of the disease—Ramona, bone cancer, and Renata, stomach cancer—and each has undergone a series of hardships and medical treatments that have taken great tolls on both of them. The Egans' medical bills are staggering, even with insurance. Don't say anything to them, Leslie, but when they adamantly refused to accept my offer to give them their fantasy for a quarter of the amount they sent me, I simply gave in—then, after depositing their check, I wrote out one of my own for three-quarters of what they sent, saw to it that that money was deposited into their bank account just before they left their Maryland home for this island, and then wrote another check for one hundred thousand dollars to be put toward their medical bills. Both parents have worked very hard to raise the money for the bills and for this fantasy, and have taken a great many hours away from their jobs to be with their daughters during their illnesses. They have already paid enough of a price, in many ways. I put the token payment that I did accept toward a lavish birthday party to be catered by your friend Maureen's mother and her employees."

"That's beautiful and incredibly generous, Father," Leslie said, hand at her throat. "What's their fantasy, then—the birthday party?"

"Not just any birthday party," said Roarke. "The twins and their cousin are all deeply enamored of the Disney princess films, from the original _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_ all the way through to _Mulan_ from the year they were born. And their fantasy is to be Disney princesses for the weekend."

"Oh," Leslie murmured and smiled. "That should be simple."

"Perhaps," said Roarke and grinned at her. "But you'll have to perform one task that may very well not be so simple." He left her dangling on that note, raised the champagne flute that arrived at a suspiciously convenient moment, and welcomed their latest guests to the island. Every kid in the clearing hopped excitedly around—even Nia Garrett, who as Leslie watched her dropped her glass with what was left of her drink after one of her brothers accidentally elbowed her—and Leslie knew that this weekend would be possibly one of the busiest, but also one of the most intriguing, she'd ever taken part in since becoming her father's assistant.


	15. Chapter 15

**§ § § - July 13, 2002**

There was a full hour between their guests' appointments, because the Garretts needed time to settle into their bungalow with their half-dozen children. Todd and Jillian Egan went over their daughters' fantasy with Roarke and Leslie, lit up when they heard what Roarke planned for Ramona and Renata's birthday party, and then imparted some news that startled their hosts. They seemed not to notice Roarke's and Leslie's reactions as they thanked them profusely and hurried out. Roarke, left with no other choice, made a request of Leslie that had her eyes popping. "Wh... _whaaaaat?"_ she bleated stupidly.

"You heard me correctly," he said with a nod.

"But I don't think...well, I mean, I'm not sure how..." she stammered.

"Go and find out," Roarke said. "You still have more than forty-five minutes."

"He'll kill me," Leslie said faintly.

Roarke laughed. "I doubt that. If necessary, put the onus on me, but go and do it. It's our best chance to succeed at such short notice."

"He's going to kill me," Leslie muttered, pushing herself to her feet and trudging across the room to the open French shutters. "Boy oh boy, is he gonna kill me."

She was still muttering this to herself when she reached Enstad Computer Services in the town square. Letting herself in, she hesitated in the doorway, scanning the room with half a hope, which died altogether when she spied Christian at his desk, his arms buried up to the elbows in the guts of a computer tower. His employees waved and greeted her, catching Christian's attention as she returned the gestures, and he brightened. "Hello, my Rose! What brings you here?"

"You...you finish that," Leslie urged him. "It can wait. Go ahead."

Christian paused, his smile fading almost entirely away, a small, suspicious frown creasing his forehead. Leslie had learned very early in their marriage that he was capable of noting her slightest change of mood, and now that they'd been together a good eighteen months, he'd learned to read those moods, even if he didn't know the reason for them. "What's wrong, Leslie?"

"Nothing," she said. It was the truth, after all; nothing was actually wrong. "I can wait, I've got some time. Please, go ahead and finish doing that."

Christian scoffed lightly and said, "This particular repair project won't be finished till at least lunchtime, I'm afraid. You, on the other hand, are no doubt due back at the main house in short order, what with the usual business of a weekend. So sit down here and tell me what's wrong."

"But nothing _is_ wrong," she insisted, taking the lone chair on the other side of the work arm of his desk. "Honestly."

"Then why do you look as if something is?" he countered, peering into the tower long enough to make an adjustment to something inside. "Come on, Leslie, talk to me."

She blew out a breath and gave up. Roarke had said she could blame him, and she fully intended to, if Christian evinced the reaction she anticipated from him. "Okay, here's the thing. The Egan family is here this weekend—mom, dad, twin girls and their cousin. The little girls have a fantasy to be Disney princesses this weekend..." She paused, watching him closely, waiting for the reaction.

"Do they?" Christian inquired, squinting into the tower. "Go on."

"Yeah, well, the twins are turning six tomorrow. Father has a thing all set up for them. It's going to be a big, huge royal ball." That did get his attention; he stilled, then turned to eye her, all his concentration on her now. "Father expects to discuss the whole thing with Todd and Jillian Egan in a while, and explain to them what's in store and how it'll go, but there's a little catch."

"A royal ball and a catch." Christian carefully retracted his arms from the computer tower and pushed his chair a little to his left so that he sat directly across from her. "Tell me the rest."

"The parents don't want to play king and queen for the girls," Leslie said, "so—"

"Wait," Christian broke in, raising one hand. "Don't tell me, let me guess. I have to step in and play up my title. Perhaps even pretend I'm a king rather than a prince."

He didn't sound particularly upset, just resigned and none too thrilled. That alone gave Leslie some relief; she found more consolation in the knowledge that he was only partly right. "Not exactly. What Father has in mind is to bring in a real live king and queen, and that's where you come in. I know it's short notice, but he didn't learn till we saw them a little while ago that Mr. and Mrs. Egan have no intention or desire to fill in as the king and queen. That leaves us in the lurch, so Father sent me over here to ask you to help him find substitutes."

A stunned expression settled over Christian's beautiful features, and his hazel eyes slowly widened till Leslie half expected them to spring out of his face and bounce around the room. Finally he got out, _"Whaaaaaat?"_ exactly as she had done in Roarke's study moments before.

"That was my reaction too," she told him, a little frantic. "We got this sprung on us out of the blue. It turns out Todd and Jillian Egan are doing this solely for the benefit of their daughters and niece. Their only reason for being here, other than accompanying the kids of course, is so they can turn the little girls loose in their fantasy and know that they're in good hands with us, while they themselves take the weekend off and just enjoy themselves."

 _"Ödarna i sina slott!_ Are they truly serious?" Christian demanded in disbelief.

Leslie realized she had left out an important part of the equation and raised her hands at him, palms facing him. "Wait a minute, my love, they're justified. I'm sorry, I forgot to mention this. Ramona and Renata have both just been declared in remission from cancer after some two years of symptoms and medications and treatments and bouts of sickness and who-knows-what-else. Their parents have worked their tails off to earn the money to make payments on procedures insurance won't cover, and to save the money to give the girls this fantasy. They've earned their weekend off and then some. They just forgot to inform us that they didn't want to fill the roles of king and queen while the girls are playing princess for the weekend."

Christian's expression slowly cleared as she explained, but there was still doubt mixed in with the understanding. "Well, my Rose, that certainly puts things in a better light, but it doesn't change my ability—or inability, in this case—to provide what you need. Whether they actually rule their countries or are merely figureheads, most royals have busy schedules, and you can't expect them to just drop what they're doing and come galloping to the rescue." He tilted his head to one side and queried, "Is it necessary that they be authentic? I mean, can't Mr. Roarke used costumed actors or something of that sort? Finding actual royalty..." He let the sentence trail off and shook his head.

"I don't know," Leslie admitted through a sigh. "Father wanted it to be as real as he could make it, but I guess there are some things even he isn't capable of."

Christian grunted and let a wry smile spread over his features. "Who'd have thought there was anything your father couldn't do." Reluctantly she smiled back, and he relaxed in his chair, his eyes drifting out of focus as he began to consider the problem despite himself. After a moment or two he admitted, "As much as I hate to say it, I myself am probably the closest thing on this island to an authentic king at the moment. That is, unless there are secret visitors Mr. Roarke didn't happen to inform you about, for whatever reason."

An idea bloomed in Leslie's head and she bolted upright in her chair. "Christian, my love, you're a genius! Listen, are you too busy with that thing to lend my authority a little extra weight, or is that project too urgent?"

Christian followed her glance at the computer tower sitting beside them and eyed it with an assessing look. "Well, I'm actually about three-quarters done with this, but the only reason I said it would take me till lunchtime is that the remaining fourth consists of some rather delicate installations the owner asked me to do once I was finished with the more technical repairs. Wait here a moment while I check with Mateo on the inventory." She nodded, watching him rise, round the far side of the desk and confer with his manager. When Christian showed Mateo a list and they began to go through it point by point, Leslie checked her watch, saw that she still had about half an hour, and shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her mind drifted back to the problem at hand. She fully understood Christian's explanation regarding the busy schedules of royalty, but it made her wonder just how much time royals spent doing charity works and cutting ribbons to open new buildings and whatever else they did. Some, like Christian, had jobs, though she had no idea how many, or what kind of work they might do.

She frowned at the floor as her mind barreled ever farther down the track: she knew full well that there were plenty of princes and princesses whose only proof that they were royal was their title. There were degrees of royalty, she had dimly grasped; on one of their days off in late May when they had been shut inside during a long and heavy rainstorm, they'd paused between bouts of lovemaking so that he could try to explain some of the subtle differences between titles. She recalled him telling her there were Royal Highnesses and Serene Highnesses, and Eminences, Excellencies and Graces all over the place, though those latter three styles were noble rather than royal. Europe was carpeted with aloof, titled sorts in every financial class, according to what Christian had told her. Her head still swam whenever she tried to sort out the information, but she took some comfort in his explanation that the Scandinavian countries didn't bother with "Serene" Highnesses. She had stared at him in astonishment when he'd finally wound up his explanation. "And they teach you all that in Royal Comportment?"

"Of course, it's among the first things we learn. Before our first year of Royal Comportment is through, we are given lists of titles in order of rank, with all the variations and subtleties, and we're expected to know not only where in the pecking order each title sits, but the proper manner of address for every last one of them." He'd quirked one brow as he said this, blown out a breath, and eyed her a little sourly. "And now you know why I was so eager to relinquish my title upon marrying you."

She snickered to herself even now as she remembered this last remark, then slumped a little in her chair and sighed. Just then Christian came back and paused to regard her. "You're deep in thought."

"Yeah, well..." She looked up, smiled and shrugged. "I was just remembering that rainy day when you were trying to explain all the different ranks and the assorted appellations to titles."

He chuckled. "Ah. Well, if I were you, I wouldn't worry about that. I have time to spare, by the way. Mateo checked inventory and we're out of two of the parts I need, so he'll have Jonathan order the parts from Honolulu and make sure they're sent here today so I can finish that machine before I close for the day. But it'll be several hours at least, so I may as well see what I can do to help you now." He turned to his employees as Leslie stood up. "I'll be out at least till past lunch. Mateo, whenever the package, or packages, arrive, just call my mobile and let me know." At Mateo's nod, he took Leslie's hand and led her outside. "Tell me about this idea of yours."

"My computer at the main house, the one in my old room, is still connected to the network you set up for us when you first came here six years ago to create the island website," she began as they strolled down the south side of the town square toward the path that would take them to the main house. "It's tied into every structure that's part of the resort—the hotel, the casino, the restaurants, everything—because Father checks up on all the backstage stuff: inventory, payroll, staff rosters, room status, stuff like that. That means I can access the guest roster at the hotel and see at any given moment a full list of all the names of the guests staying there. We always know off the top of our heads who's in the bungalows, because there are only about half a dozen of them; but the hotel's another story. So I'm thinking, let's go check the hotel guest roster and find out if somebody's there who might qualify to fill the king and queen roles in the Egan fantasy."

"Brilliant," said Christian, grinning at her. "Do you think there's any chance of your finding someone there?"

"Frankly, no, but it never hurts to look anyway. Once we know, then we can try brainstorming from there," Leslie said.

Christian nodded. "Well enough. How much time do you have?"

She checked her watch. "About fifteen minutes. It shouldn't take that long."

He agreed, and they let their conversation meander where it would till they reached the back of the terrace behind the house. Roarke was still at the desk, phone receiver to one ear, listening to someone. Christian and Leslie traded one glance before walking right in and heading for the stairs.

"Leslie?" Roarke queried from the desk.

"Just checking on something upstairs," she told him. Roarke's brows rose and he started to speak, but then someone said something on the phone and his attention was diverted. Leslie gave her husband a quick nudge and they escaped upstairs, trying hard not to rush.

"Is it that big a secret?" Christian wanted to know, watching her sit at the desk in her old room and boot up the computer.

"I don't think Father expects me to go through the names of every guest who's on the island right now," Leslie said with a shrug. "Anyway, I've never had reason before to go looking into the records at the hotel or anywhere else. He might think I'm breaching some privacy code."

Christian grunted and remarked, "It seems to me you have good reason to check those records, and besides, you're second in command here, aren't you? Who else other than Mr. Roarke would have the right to look at those records? And it's not as if you go looking into them just for fun."

"True," she said, relieved. "I hope Father sees it that way. Let's see...I've got the passcodes for all the records in all the resort businesses here on this list." She brought up a document, scrolled slowly along it till she found the code she wanted, and mumbled it to herself over and over till she had gotten into the resort's records system, searched for the hotel's guest roster and found it. Bringing it up, she typed in her initials and then the passcode, and a second later she was in.

"I'm happy to see it still works," Christian said, watching from behind her.

"It should," Leslie told him through a snicker, "since you designed the whole system and got it up and running. Help me go through these names, my love, would you?"

With Leslie keeping an eye on her watch, they scanned the entire list of the current guests in the resort hotel. There were several famous names, to be sure—entertainers and big-business people, as well as a couple of athletes—but there was no royalty on the guest list at the moment.

"Oh crap," muttered Leslie, dispirited.

Christian made another noise low in his throat and straightened. "Well, I don't..." His voice trailed off suddenly and he fell still, staring at the wall for a few seconds before brightening. "Perhaps I have something after all. Let me call the castle. It's late at night for them, but the staff is accustomed to the possibility of summonses at any hour. I'll get in touch with Anna-Laura and see if I can get her to help. I'm thinking perhaps she can find a list of the regulars who come to the royal Christmas ball every year. There are all manner of nobility and minor royalty on that list; there's a chance that some of them might be willing to help."

Filled with hope, Leslie nodded vigorous agreement, backing out of the records system, closing out the entire application and shutting down the computer while Christian pulled his cell phone from his pocket. A couple of minutes later he was on the phone with his sister in Lilla Jordsö, speaking in _jordiska_ for more efficient communication. She didn't understand the language, but it was melodious and rhythmic, as if he were half singing as he spoke. She knew enough about languages to know that _jordiska_ , like its Scandinavian siblings, was a tonal language, giving the Nordic tongues a hypnotic singsong quality that she wanted to be in on, like a selective club.

Christian murmured something into the phone that sounded like agreement— _"Ja, så venter jag, men du får plissa raska dej"_ —and focused on Leslie. "She's going to give the castle secretary a call and find out where the guest list for the royal ball is kept. I asked her to hurry—I know you're due to meet with some guests in a few minutes."

Leslie checked her watch again and groaned. "Actually, I have to do it right now. If you want, you can stay up here till Anna-Laura finds the guest list for you." Christian agreed, and she jumped to her feet and hurried down the stairs just as the inner-foyer door opened and admitted a small hurricane. The Garrett kids were chattering, laughing, arguing here and there, elbowing or poking or slapping one another, while their parents tried in vain to quiet them down. Leslie picked out Nia in the group, watching how the girl kept mostly to herself, but nonetheless took in her surroundings with big-eyed admiration. She came down into the room and watched Roarke arise; he seemed to catch the Garretts' collective attention all at once, and with surprising and amusing speed, the kids fell silent. "Good morning, everyone," Roarke greeted them with a warm smile and a nod. "I hope you find your accommodations satisfactory."

"They're wonderful, Mr. Roarke," Erica Garrett said happily. "We're going to have just the most wonderful time, aren't we, kids?" There was general agreement among the youngsters at this, and Erica beamed even more. "Ross and I were hoping to relax by the pool, but the kids all want to go swimming—so could you give us a quick overview of where the pool is and all the other places we'll want to see this weekend?"

Roarke spent a few minutes giving them the highlights of a stay on the island; by the time he finished, the kids were clamoring to get out of the house and get started. Finally Ross Garrett yelled, "Enough!" and shot Roarke an apologetic smile. "They don't know when to quit sometimes," he said.  
"Sorry about the shouting. Anyway, we appreciate this so much more than you know."

"I am most pleased," Roarke replied, truly looking so. "If you have any questions, call on either me or my daughter at any time."

"We will," Erica agreed. "Okay, kids, come on, you can get into your suits and we'll all go on over to the pool." This met with a loud multi-voiced cheer, and the family began to crowd out the door, all of them too excited to notice that Nia followed them only as far as the inner-foyer door before halting behind it as one of her siblings closed it, then peering cautiously at Roarke and Leslie from over the half-wall that stretched from the doorway to the support post at the top of the steps.

"Um, Mr. Roarke...can I still have my fantasy?" she asked, as if afraid of the answer.

"Of course, Nia," Roarke replied with a smile. "Come back in, and please have a seat. Tell us about your fantasy. What brought it on?"

Nia came in and perched on the edge of her chair, wearing an expression that suggested Roarke must be as blind as every other adult in her life. "Didn't you see me at the plane dock? Tripping on my own feet and spilling my drink and everything? I'm a klutz. First-class, grade-A, number-one klutz."

Gravely Roarke said, "Surely it's not as bad as you think."

"It is too," Nia said flatly. "I'm not kidding, Mr. Roarke. I don't even know why I'm a klutz, I just know I am. Even my mom thinks so. She sent me to get something from my new dad, and I ran off to do it, and when I got back she said something about how my feet were all over the place when I ran and maybe she should think about putting me in a ballet class."

"I see," Roarke commented thoughtfully.

"I've always been like this," Nia said, hanging her head. "My brothers and my sister tease me about it, and my stepbrother and stepsister do too, and all my classmates. I have a couple of friends in school, but one of them is normal, and the other one's like a ballerina. Everything she does makes her look like she's floating. Me...I bump into stuff, I knock stuff down, I drop things, I trip on stuff...you name it and I do it. Look at this." Nia raised her left arm and pointed out a small purple bruise on her wrist. "I don't even know how I got it. And I get mystery bruises like that all the time. I bump into something, and I do it so much I don't really even notice, and then later I see a bruise and I wonder how I got it. That's how bad it is."

Roarke nodded; Leslie perched against the edge of the desk and asked, "What would you like to do to be less clumsy?"

"I'd do anything," Nia said earnestly. "I mean, just for a couple of days, I want to be graceful and not always break stuff by accident." She took in the look Roarke and Leslie exchanged, then added wistfully, "Maybe my body could get the idea if I spend a weekend being graceful, and I could keep it that way even after we go home."

Leslie let out a soundless giggle and met Nia's plaintive gaze with a sympathetic smile. "Don't feel like you're alone, Nia. I have the same problem. Maybe not quite to the extent you say you do, and I have a feeling maybe you aren't quite that bad either—but I can understand your wanting to be more graceful." She winked at the surprised girl. "I kidded my husband once that I was lucky my mother didn't name me Grace."

Nia's mouth dropped open and she hooted with glee. "That's a good one! I'm lucky my name's not Grace either." She made a face, her levity vanishing in an instant. "I'd get teased even more than I already do, if it was."

Roarke smiled. "Well, Nia, since you seem to be so worried about it, perhaps we can work out something for you. I can tell you this much, however: grace is a state of mind, not an instinct. It comes naturally to some and not at all to others, but if you are careful and pay attention to your surroundings, that may cut down on your little accidents by a significant amount."

"Well, I try, but it just makes it worse. I mean, one time there was this pile of dog poop on the sidewalk, so I took a big step to my left, and a kid on a bike almost hit me. He had to turn his bike to my right..." Nia blushed. "And he rode right through the dog poop, and splattered it all over the place, and some of it got on me. He yelled at me and called me some really nasty names. Said it was all my fault. I guess it was. I was trying to look around so I wouldn't step in the dog poop, but if I'd been looking all around me for bikes, then I _would've_ stepped in it." She shrugged. "I can't win."

Leslie by now was trying to dam up her laughter, and even Roarke looked wryly amused. "Well, that certainly is a problem," he observed, and Leslie snorted, shaking her head at him.

"Really, Father, you have this thing about understatement," she said, grinning.

Roarke grinned back. "Indeed? Well, Nia..." He arose from his chair. "I think I can help you. If you don't mind waiting here with Leslie, I'll be back in a few minutes." He left the study, and Nia peered up at Leslie with interest.

"You're a princess, right?" she asked.

"Not exactly," said Leslie and laughed. "Not anymore, that is. My husband gave up his title when he moved here to live with me. Not that it matters. People still call him 'Prince Christian' or 'Your Highness' all the time. I think he's resigned."

Nia giggled. "Have you ever been to the royal castle where he comes from?"

"In Lilla Jordsö? Sure, once. It's quite a place. It looks like a gloomy pile of rocks on the outside, but inside it's very elegant, and there's one room where the castle gardener grows plants, and one entire wall is glass, on two stories. It's hard to describe it. You'd have to see it to believe it." She told Nia about a few other parts of the castle, enchanting the girl till Roarke cane back bearing a small crystal vial with a glass stopper.

"If you drink this, all at once," he said, handing it to Nia, "you will be graceful for the weekend, till it wears off in thirty-six hours. That means you'll go back to your normal self at..." He cast a glance at the grandfather clock. "About ten-thirty tomorrow evening."

"Cool," Nia exclaimed, peering at the vial and its contents. She took in the bright sapphire blue of the liquid within, then tried to pull out the stopper and found herself having to tug, without effect. Face reddening again, she turned to Leslie. "I...um...could you get this out for me? If I pull any more, I'll probably spill it."

Leslie grinned, took the vial from her and twisted the stopper, tugging it out at the same time. "Here you go. Just drink all of it down at one time, as if you were really thirsty."

Nia nodded, put the vial to her lips and drained it in three or four gulps, then handed it back to Leslie. She made a face and remarked, "It tasted kinda weird...like, I don't know, sour blueberries or something." On her hosts' amusement, she looked up at Roarke. "How long does it take before I start being graceful?"

"You already are, Nia," Roarke said. "The potion takes instant effect."

"Hop up and walk a little," Leslie suggested.

Nia's eyeballs bounced back and forth between Roarke and Leslie; then she got to her feet and rounded her chair, heading for the steps and climbing, then pivoting on one toe and skipping back down. She didn't so much as stub her toe against a riser. "Do I look funny?" Nia wanted to know.

Leslie pushed herself off the desk and suggested, "How about we go outside a minute. You can run in the lane a bit and we'll let you know."

Nia agreed and promptly whipped around to head for the door, as if forgetting she was in the study rather than the inner foyer. But instead of tripping over the bottom step as Leslie knew she would have otherwise, she swung a foot up in what appeared to be an automatic motion and trotted right up the steps. Nia realized it too and gasped. "Did you see that?" she cried. "I'd've tripped on that step and landed right on my face! But my foot just went up and hit the step all by itself!"

"So it did," remarked Roarke, his tone surprised, though Leslie detected the faintly exaggerated quality to it and had to hide a little smile. He followed them outside, where Nia bounded across the porch, down the steps and into the lane as though her feet didn't touch the ground. Then she executed a light leap onto the edge of the fountain and circled it twice, arms out for balance, but without a single missed step, let alone a saturating tumble into the fountain.

"It really works!" Nia shouted ecstatically, leaping off the fountain's edge and twirling in the lane before performing a perfect cartwheel on the side lawn. "Wow, did you _see_ that? I never did a perfect cartwheel in my whole _life!_ Holy cow, Mr. Roarke, your potion really made me graceful!"

"You did it again," Leslie remarked with a grin.

"That's as it should be," replied Roarke, but he too looked very pleased. Raising his voice, he called, "Nia, you look lovely, and you move beautifully."

"How can I make it last, Mr. Roarke?" Nia pleaded, approaching the bushes planted below the porch railing that overlooked the side yard. "I don't want it to end tomorrow night."

"Pay attention to the way you move as you walk," Roarke instructed her. "Watch how your feet move along the ground. When you run, watch where you're going, but be aware of how your body feels as you're moving. Only practice—a great deal of it—will help you to incorporate grace into your everyday movements, long after your fantasy ends. Practice is the key."

"Got it. Wow, thanks, Mr. Roarke, thanks _sooooo_ much! I'm gonna change into my swimsuit now and go to the pool. Maybe even my brothers and sisters'll notice I'm not such a klutz anymore." Face radiant, Nia waved at them and ran away toward her family's bungalow, still lithe and surefooted and all but exploding with delight.

"Well, that's a happy customer," Leslie said, watching her go.

Roarke nodded. "So she is. Now, before we pay our latest call on the Egan family, I suggest you bring Christian down from your old bedroom and ask him for a progress report." He simply smiled when she aimed a dirty look at him, and without another word she headed into the house.


	16. Chapter 16

**§ § § - July 13, 2002**

While Roarke waited in the study, Leslie took the steps two at a time and burst into her old bedroom, where she found Christian back on the phone. He smiled at sight of her and pointed at the spot directly beside him on the bed, then said something in _jordiska_ into the phone while she sat down and he curled his free arm around her, drawing her in close. _"Och så kommer båda säger du? Det är helt bra, men jag tänkte va' synt det är a' vi inte får ha familjens festaflikka med for dehära tilldragelsen."_ He laughed at the response, said something else and gave a farewell which Leslie recognized, before ending the call and turning to her.

"Good news, I hope," she said.

"Fortunately for both you and Mr. Roarke, yes," he said with a teasing grin. "Anna-Laura read off quite a list of candidates. I had no idea there was that much royalty who so enjoyed the Christmas balls. At any rate, she promptly volunteered her own Cecilia and Axel—according to Anna-Laura, they're already on their way to the airport—and she and the castle secretary are contacting all the younger royals on the list. But there's someone you've forgotten, and I have little doubt Mr. Roarke either didn't remember them himself, or is just leaving us with the entire problem. Why don't you see what Errico and Michiko are doing? It's just a thought. Give the palace a call and leave a message. I expect we'll hear from them sometime this evening."

"I should've thought of that," Leslie exclaimed. "Michiko would love the excuse to come home, even if it's just for a day or two."

"So she would. That would give you your authentic king and queen," Christian said. "I was telling Anna-Laura that it's too bad Kristina couldn't make it. Our very own party girl. Unfortunately, her mental health precludes it, so if Errico and Michiko can't come, we may have to..." He hesitated a second, then grinned and concluded wryly, "Some prince and princess will just have to be 'promoted' for a night, I suppose."

Leslie laughed. "Well, we'll see what happens. I keep thinking things will fall apart and drastic measures will have to be resorted to. Tell you what, my love, if you want, you can go back to your office. Father and I have to go and visit the Egans anyway, meet the kids, so you don't have to hang around here if you'd rather not."

"I'll contact the palace in Arcolos," Christian decided. "Then I can call you later and let you know, in the unlikely event I get an immediate answer. I told Mateo I probably wouldn't be back before lunch, so I'll concentrate on calling Arcolos, then I'll remain here till you and Mr. Roarke get back, and have lunch with the two of you."

"Sounds good," Leslie agreed, then leaned over and kissed him. "You're a lifesaver, my love. Thank you so much for doing this for us."

Christian hiked a brow. "Do I get a reward for it?" he kidded, and they both laughed. He put his phone aside, cradled her face in his hand and kissed her properly, indulging both of them till they had almost gone too far to stop. Having been married a mere eighteen months at this point, they were still in the newlywed stage, and they often had some trouble controlling themselves, though it got a little easier as time slipped by.

"Ach," he murmured. "I think you'd better go before I lose the last of my self-restraint. Besides, Mr. Roarke is undoubtedly wondering where you are."

"Yeah, probably," she grumbled and sighed. "Well, there's always tonight, if you don't feel like going home, you know. I love you so much."

"I love you too, my Leslie Rose. Hurry now, before I change my mind." He gave her a gentle nudge in the lower back, and she dropped one last kiss on his lips before pushing herself to her feet and reluctantly leaving the room.

Roarke was waiting for her in front of the desk, and she explained to him what Christian's plans were as they left the house and started to walk to the Egans' bungalow. Roarke agreed with Christian's idea, adding, "I do realize it's very short notice, but the occasion seems to call for authentic royalty."

"Was that the Egans' request?" Leslie asked curiously.

Her father smiled mysteriously at her. "I suggest you put the question to them yourself."

When they arrived at the bungalow, Jillian Egan opened the door and smiled broadly. "Hi, Mr. Roarke. Mrs. Enstad? So nice to meet you."

"Good to meet you too, and please call me Leslie." She smiled at the younger woman. "How do the girls like it here?"

"They love it. Can't wait to get out and explore, but their fantasy is the biggest thing on their minds right now," said Jillian, closing the door and walking with them to the main room. "Now that they're rested from the flights..."

"Mommy? Are they here yet?" shouted a voice from the back bedroom.

"Yes, honey, they are—you kids come on out," Jillian called back, and seconds later three little girls emerged, their faces wide open with excited anticipation. "This is Mr. Roarke, and that's Mrs. Enstad—she's his daughter and his assistant, and she's married to a real live prince."

The girls squealed with delight and clustered around Leslie's chair, peppering her with questions all at once. For her part, Leslie was having trouble gathering her equilibrium. Ramona and Renata Egan were not identical twins, but nevertheless they reminded her strongly of Kristy and Kelly. Ramona, like Kelly, was full of energy that she couldn't keep from expending in the restless movement of her body, even though she had been through so much illness; and Renata bore a startling facial resemblance to Kristy, in Leslie's mind, even wearing her hair in the same two ponytails Kristy had, the ones Leslie's mother used to call "doggie ears". The twins' cousin, Delaney, bore some resemblance to them, but unlike theirs, her hair was dark, thick and curly, and her wide almond-shaped eyes were deep brown.

Roarke could see Leslie's mien and spoke up, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Ladies, ladies, I think perhaps you should try asking your questions one at a time. Poor Leslie can't understand you."

"You go first, Renata," Delaney offered immediately.

"Which prince are you married to, Mrs. Enstad?" Renata asked breathlessly, green eyes aglow with wonder and excitement. "Is he part of our fantasy?"

Leslie grinned, trying to hide her lingering discomposure. "Well, to answer the second part of your question, not really, no. The first part...well, have you ever heard of a little island country in Europe called Lilla Jordsö?" She was a bit surprised when all three girls nodded. "That's his native country. His name is Christian, and he's the uncle of their Queen Gabriella. But when he married me and moved here to live with me, he gave up his title, so he's not a prince anymore."

She blinked—and Roarke and Jillian both laughed—when the girls' faces fell. Delaney cocked her head to one side. "How can you stop being a prince?" she wanted to know. "That's no fun."

"Well, sometimes things kind of like that have happened before," Leslie began, verbally groping. "Like once, the king of England was so much in love with a lady that he gave up being the king just to be with her." That made the girls gasp.

"That's a lotta love," remarked Delaney. The adults all laughed, and Leslie nodded agreement.

"When do we get to start being Disney princesses?" Ramona wanted to know.

"As soon as you tell me which princess is your favorite," Roarke said, smiling broadly. "When you do, you will become that very princess for the weekend."

Jillian looked surprised and curious; Leslie smiled, a bit relieved to have the pressure removed from her. She was still trying to accustom herself to Ramona's and Renata's similarities to her sisters. Oblivious, Ramona exclaimed, "Princess Jasmine! She got to meet Aladdin and ride on a magic carpet with him, and talk to the genie. I want to do all that."

"Ah," Roarke said with another broad smile, "an excellent choice, Ramona. Now close your eyes and stand still." Ramona nodded, squinched her eyes shut as hard as she could, and held her thin but restless little body as quiet as she could make it. Roarke nodded, then raised both arms and described an oval in the air, about Ramona's size, from her head to her feet. The little girl was shrouded in gold and sparkles, making Renata's and Delaney's eyes pop with delight. The second Roarke finished the oval and lowered his arms, the gold and sparkle effects faded away, leaving Ramona Egan standing there dressed in a cute bolero top with a sheer overblouse, ballooning harem pants, slippers with turned-up toes, and a little round fez decorated in intricate gold-thread designs. The whole outfit was sky blue and suited her perfectly. Her hair, instead of dark gold, was now long and blue-black, caught up in a flowing ponytail that erupted from the open top of the fez.

Ramona was giggling as she emerged from Roarke's transformational effect. "That tickled!" she chortled, then saw herself and gasped loudly. "Wow, oh wow! Mommy, look at me! I look just like Princess Jasmine!"

"You sure do, honey," Jillian agreed, beaming.

"Can I be next?" Delaney cried, and at Roarke's nod, informed him, "My favorite's Princess Mulan. She was really, really brave and did lots of exciting stuff, and got to beat the boys at stuff. I want to be her."

Grinning, Roarke assured her, "And you shall be. Close your eyes, please." Delaney did so, and Roarke performed the same effect on her that he had done with Ramona. Delaney emerged clad in a silken robe, lavender trimmed with purple, printed with flowers and trees in the Far-Eastern fashion; sturdy Chinese-style shoes peeped out from under the hem. Her dark curls were now flatiron-straight and gleamed in the light.

"Oh, gosh, this is cool," Delaney exclaimed. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke...even if the sparkly stuff really did tickle like Ramona said."

As Roarke laughed, Renata offered shyly, "My favorite Disney princess is Cinderella. She got to beat out her two terrible stepsisters and her nasty stepmother, and she got to go to the ball, and the prince fell in love with her. I want to dance at a ball like that and wear a pretty dress."

"You know that Cinderella didn't wear a pretty dress all the way through the story, honey," Jillian reminded her then. "She started out in rags, cleaning the fireplace."

Renata shrugged. "I know, but she could talk to the mice and the birds, and she had three really nice fairy godmothers that helped her. So it'd be okay till it was time for them to make me pretty so I can go to the ball and wear some glass slippers."

"Very well," agreed Roarke, chuckling. "If you'll close your eyes..." Within ten seconds the transformation was complete; Renata came out with pale golden hair plaited into a long braid, though for the moment she was clad only in a drab little gray dress and was barefoot. "That's how you will begin your fantasy, Renata, but remember, things will change."

"I know, Mr. Roarke. Thanks," Renata said, eyes shining.

"Now..." Roarke stood up, just as the door opened and Todd Egan walked in with a paper bag. He stopped short and stared at the girls in astonishment, and Roarke nodded to him. "Mr. Egan."

"Hi, Mr. Roarke...I guess the kids are about to start their fantasy," Todd said and laughed at himself, coming fully into the room. "You three look just like your favorite princesses."

"Mr. Roarke did it, Daddy," Ramona chirped. "It was really cool. He changed us into princesses with this sparkly gold magic, and it tickled!"

"Is that so?" Todd laughed again, sitting beside Jillian. "Well, before it gets any later, you should start your fantasy right now."

Roarke smiled and turned to Ramona. "Princess Jasmine, you're first: just step out through the front door there, and you will walk directly into your fantasy." Ramona nodded vigorously and scuttled for the door, pulling it open and revealing the interior of a castle. "That's Jasmine's palace you see."

Renata and Delaney leaned over to get a look for themselves, but managed a mere glimpse before Ramona squealed out, "See you later!" and darted through the door, which drifted shut behind her. Todd and Jillian laughed again, though they both sounded a touch nervous.

"Now, Princess Mulan?" Roarke invited, gesturing at the door. Delaney took a deep breath and paced across the floor toward it, casting three or four glances back at her cousin, aunt and uncle, and once even at Leslie.

"Go ahead," Leslie encouraged her. "Go have fun."

At that Delaney brightened and covered the rest of the distance to the door in a sprint, flinging it open and beholding a modest Chinese house surrounded by a tall wall. "Oh boy," she blurted and all but jumped through, banging the door shut behind her.

"And now, Princess Cinderella," Roarke concluded, nodding to Renata. There was no hesitation in the little girl's careful steps as she picked her way across the floor—a remnant, Leslie was sure, of all the illness and treatments she had come through—and let herself through without a word and only a glimpse of the interior of a dingy little hovel. When the door closed behind her, silence filled the room, and the Egans looked uneasily at each other.

"Is something wrong, Mr. and Mrs. Egan?" Roarke inquired.

"They're still so little. Barely six," Todd said low. "And Ramona and Renata have been through so much."

Roarke only smiled; Leslie, remembering a little boy named Luke Endicott many years before, met Todd's gaze. "Don't worry, please. Everything in the girls' fantasies will go exactly the way it happens in their favorite princess movie. No deviations from the original story, and they'll all be completely safe and sound. We've done this before." Her voice went soft and reminiscent as she thought about Luke, now long deceased, and his cherished magic carpet.

"I see," Todd mumbled, watching her curiously.

"It surprises me," Roarke commented after a moment, "that you and your wife elected not to have any participation in the children's collective fantasy. Were you to pose as the king and queen at their birthday ball, you would know immediately how things stood with them. You could be a part of the fantasy—have the chance to watch over them as they experience the adventures of their chosen princesses."

"I thought of that too," Todd admitted. "But Jill and I talked it over, and we agreed that just for this weekend, we'd leave them in your capable hands. They don't need us hovering over them the whole weekend. Renata and Ramona have already had enough of that, after all their battles with their respective cases of cancer. We don't want to be smothering parents."

"Besides, it gives us a chance to relax here, stop worrying for a while, and do what we like," said Jillian cheerfully, "even if all we do is lie on the beach."

Roarke chuckled. "Very well, then, in that case, we'll leave you to precisely that. Come, Leslie, we have other duties to attend to."

Leslie followed Roarke out and back to the main house, quiet the whole way there, her mind at first on the long-ago fantasy Luke Endicott had had, then on whether Christian had succeeded in touching base with Errico and Michiko. They entered the study to find him seated in one of the chairs in front of Roarke's desk, phone at his ear, making notes on a yellow legal pad in his lap. He looked up and smiled a greeting as they stepped into the room, but his primary attention was on whoever was on the phone with him; so Leslie let him be, scanning Roarke's desk in case there was something there she could attend to.

Then there came a knock on the door, and she exchanged a glance with Roarke before going to answer it. To her surprise, it turned out to be Nia Garrett. "Hi," she said, letting the girl in. "What can we do for you?"

Nia peered up at Leslie with an odd diffidence as she sidled in past her, then edged into the study, taking the steps slowly, with her attention on Roarke. "Um..." she began, before Christian—who somehow had failed to notice her entrance—shifted in his chair and spoke into his cell phone. The moment her eyes landed on him, Nia recognized him and gasped, then breathed in Roarke's direction, "Is that Prince Christian? _The_ Prince Christian?"

"Yes, it is," Roarke told her, voice a little lower than usual out of deference to Christian. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, 'cause I..." Nia hesitated again, then sighed and addressed Roarke. "My whole family hasn't even noticed me being graceful. Not even Mom and my stepdad. And I was trying to think of some way I could make 'em notice. Like being a dancer, or a figure skater, or a gymnast...except I have to know more than just being graceful, don't I?" At Roarke's quizzical nod, she went on, "So then I thought, I could be a princess! Royal people are graceful 'cause they have to be that way. But they don't have to do anything special, they just have to be, well, graceful. So I was wondering if maybe I could change my fantasy a little bit? So that I could be a princess?"

By the time she finished, Christian had completed his phone call and, like Leslie, was now staring at Nia. Leslie followed the girl's trail into the study and cleared her throat. "Well, we have a rule, actually," she said, as gently as she could. "We, uh, can't change a fantasy once it's started."

Nia's face fell and she closed her eyes, her head hanging. "Oh. Well, I thought I'd ask." She turned and plodded toward the steps without further argument, much to the adults' surprise.

"Nia," Roarke said just as she climbed the first step. "Perhaps we can bend the rules slightly this time." He winked at Leslie, who suddenly realized what he meant to do and grinned.

"Really?" Nia cried, her mood rocketing and her eyes wide with hope. "How?"

Roarke smiled. "Now we can't turn you into a princess for the entire weekend, you see, but it so happens that we are to have a royal ball here tomorrow evening, as part of another guest's fantasy. If you like, you may attend that ball, as a princess."

Nia looked stunned. "And...and I could be any princess I wanted to be?"

"You could be Princess Nia, if you want," Leslie told her, smiling. "In fact, you'd kind of have to be—otherwise, how else would your family see the new graceful you and _know_ it's you?"

"Yeah, I guess that's true," the girl mused, then turned back to Roarke. "So I could dress up in a gorgeous ballgown, and have my hair done, and wear lots of fancy jewelry, and stuff like that?"

"You certainly can," Roarke said, smiling broadly. "Of course, the ball doesn't begin till six tomorrow evening; so you still have plenty of time to impress your family with your new sense of grace."

"Hmm, maybe," Nia said, but her tone was so skeptical that Roarke and Leslie grinned at each other over her head. Meantime Nia focused on Christian. "You're the real live Prince Christian, aren't you? The famous one?"

Christian regarded her with a trace of wariness in his hazel eyes before confirming it. "Yes, I suppose so...though I should clarify that for you. I'm not, technically, a prince anymore, for one thing; and for another, I don't know of any other princes named Christian who are alive right now, except for one obscure prince somewhere in Germany, if I recall correctly."

"Oh," mumbled Nia thoughtfully. "Well...are you gonna be at that royal ball tomorrow?"

That seemed to freeze Christian, and he stared at her. After a minute, during which he failed to find his voice, Roarke spoke up: "I suspect so, yes, Nia. There will be other royalty there as well."

"Wow, cool!" Nia burst out, thrilled. "Mr. Roarke, how do I get the stuff I need to make me a princess for a night?"

"We'll handle that in the morning," Leslie assured her. "For now, just go and have a good time, and we'll let you know when we're ready to turn you into a princess." The girl seemed satisfied with that and bounded out the door, calling out happy thanks on her way.

By the time she was gone, Christian looked forbidding. "You are _not_ asking me to attend a party," he said ominously to Leslie.

She grinned tolerantly and sat beside him in the vacant chair. "I know, I know, you hate parties on principle. But tell me something. Have we asked you to go to even one party since you moved here? Royal or not?"

"Do birthday parties count?" Christian retorted.

She made a face at him. "I said _royal or not_ , didn't I?"

"Then yes," came the instant response.

"It's only a children's party," Leslie said, feeling the first frantic stirrings. "Christian, my love, I know how much you hate parties, but this is different. I told you about the Egan twins."

"I know full well about the Egan twins," Christian said. "And you never told me I had to show up at this thing. The requests simply keep coming, don't they...and they get bigger into the bargain."

"Christian, you run the risk of sounding needlessly churlish," Roarke scolded.

Christian paused to regard him, then sighed. "Somehow I have a feeling that this will get deeper yet before the weekend is out. Perhaps you'd like to hear about the progress of my attempts to find you an authentic king and queen for this little fantasy ball of yours?"

"Yes, in fact, please do," Roarke said expectantly.

"Well." Christian consulted his legal pad, whose notes, Leslie noticed, had been jotted in his native tongue. "After going through several contacts at the publicity-staff office at the Arcolosian royal palace, I've learned that neither Errico nor Michiko is available at last-minute notice—even though the request was put directly to both of them. I was told just a few minutes ago that Michiko attempted to pull strings and rearrange her schedule in an attempt to fulfill our request, but it simply wasn't possible. They have a dozen appearances to make around Arcolos this weekend."

"Oh great," mumbled Leslie.

Roarke took on a thoughtful look. "I've previously checked with the Carpathian royals, but they aren't available either—if they had been, this wouldn't have been necessary. I am acquainted with royalty of three other countries, but none of them are available either."

"Did you ask Anna-Laura if maybe Gabriella and Elias can do it, my love?" Leslie put in.

Christian shook his head. "That was the first thing I asked of her. They're both already booked up for the weekend, just like Errico and Michiko. Besides, they don't quite fit the bill: Briella rules in her own right, but Elias is merely prince consort, so they couldn't be the king and queen your ball seems to require." He eyed Roarke sidelong. "I don't suppose you have any other suggestions."

Roarke was quiet for a minute, studying Christian, who waited in stoic silence. Leslie leaned forward. "Father, Christian did say something about, um, 'promoting' a prince and princess just for the purposes of this party."

At Roarke's curious look, Christian put in, "My sister is sending her daughter and son-in-law to attend this ball and give it some extra authenticity. You might remember them; Ceci and Axel came here for our wedding last year."

"I daresay, since they are your niece and her husband," Roarke commented, "that they may be too well-known in their real-life personae to successfully pass as king and queen, even for a night. It appears that drastic measures may have to be resorted to in order to solve this problem."

One of Christian's brows lifted, and an intrigued expression crossed his face. "Hmm. I have to confess, I look forward to finding out just what sort of drastic measures you have in mind."

Leslie grinned. "Me too. Care to share with us, Father?"

Roarke regarded them both in silence for a moment, then smiled faintly. "There's some chance I may need your assistance—both of you," he allowed, "but for the moment you'll have to wait. I need to look into my options and to find out just how feasible they are. I'll begin after lunch, and Christian, if at all possible, I would ask if you can make yourself available for the rest of the weekend. There is a distinct possibility I'll need both your help and Leslie's." He consulted the grandfather clock and got to his feet. "For now, let's have the noon meal, and then we'll see what the afternoon brings."


	17. Chapter 17

**§ § § - July 13, 2002**

"I really can't imagine what Mr. Roarke is thinking," Christian mused as he and Leslie were getting ready to join Roarke for lunch. "Minor, more obscure royalty is easy enough to procure for that ball, but I have to wonder why the insistence on an authentic king and queen."

Leslie frowned. "Father told me to ask the Egans, and I utterly forgot. I think after lunch I'll have to track them down and see if I can get an answer to that question."

At the lunch table they were joined by Nia Garrett, to their surprise; the twelve-year-old, as it turned out, had a request. "Mr. Roarke promised I could attend the royal ball," she explained to Leslie and Christian as they took their chairs. "And I started thinking that if I was gonna be really graceful, and make myself look like a real princess, I ought to learn how to act like one." She cleared her throat and a determined look crept over her face. "Like table manners, and how to talk to other royal people, and how to dance..."

Leslie suppressed a smile; Christian offered with some irony, "In other words, I think you're asking for a crash course in Royal Comportment."

Nia looked blank. "Royal what?"

"Comportment," Roarke said before Christian could respond. "That's what Christian and his family are taught, in his country, so that they know their country's and family's history, and how to behave amongst royals, how to address them properly, along with all the manners and dances and other small details one must know in order to achieve correct decorum."

"The things you have to know to not just be royal, but act like it," Leslie summed up.

Nia looked a bit daunted. "Gosh," she mumbled, biting her lip. "You mean I have to kind of have a school for this?"

"Maybe not," Leslie began, peering at her husband. "I can't be sure the actual royal ball will be all that formal. I mean, even with authentic royalty there, we have to remember this is for three little girls, only six years old. I have a feeling this is gonna be pretty modern."

Christian scoffed, amused, and remarked, "I wouldn't wager too much on that, my Rose. Not if there are to be an actual king and queen there."

Nia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, and Roarke spoke up: "Perhaps, Christian, you could provide the lessons Nia needs to achieve her goal. Leslie can help you, of course."

After a long moment of silence, Christian said a bit ominously, "I suppose this is the reason you wanted me to free my weekend."

"It's okay, my love, I'll help, if I can," Leslie offered.

Christian only half succeeded in smothering a laugh. "Forgive me, my Leslie Rose, but you might recall I myself had to teach you how to waltz, not so long ago. If you remain with me in this endeavor, I think I'll find myself with two students."

Leslie aimed a light raspberry at him, making Nia giggle, and said, "Well, suit yourself. I did want to find the Egans anyway."

"Not so fast, you little tease," Christian retorted, grinning, and when she snickered, he turned to Nia. "Well, if you're determined to attempt to look more like a princess, I think this very meal is a good place to begin. Mr. Roarke, do you think it's possible to provide her with a formal place setting?"

"I think we can arrange that," Roarke agreed, and when Mariki came out, he put the request to her. Mariki looked more than a little puzzled and skeptical, but Roarke stood firm, and a few minutes later she came back with the required items on a separate cart. Leslie, who had a little experience with elegant dinners thanks to her years of being Roarke's assistant, was still startled at the sheer number of elements that made up just one place setting. She peered at Christian to gauge his reaction, only to find him watching with a critical eye. In fact, he corrected Mariki twice as she was arranging the setting; both times, the cook shot him a black glare, but it had no effect at all on him.

When she finished, Mariki inquired snidely, "Is that right, Your Highness?"

"Yes, that's perfect," said Christian. "You need not take offense; I should think you'd rather know the proper arrangement, just in case you're ever called upon to set up and serve a large formal dinner at some point."

"Hmph," Mariki sniffed. "I thought now that you're not a prince anymore, there'd be less call for that kind of thing."

"Not necessarily, in my line of work," Roarke said. "Thank you for your efforts, Mariki."

Mariki put out the lunch dishes, then retreated, and the rest of the meal was an hour-long lesson for Nia in what dishes and silverware to use in what order, what went on each plate and in each glass, where her napkin went, what to do with items she was finished using, and even the proper use of the napkin she had been instructed to drape across her lap. Leslie silently took in the lesson, trying to remember some of the finer points, which she thought seemed to come to Christian as if he had been born with the knowledge. More than once Christian suggested to Nia that she follow his own example, even though his place setting wasn't a formal one; and by the time they had finished the meal, Nia could be seen to be suffering from information overload. "Wow, that sure is complicated," she commented when she'd finished dessert and Christian had instructed her on the proper way to indicate that she was through with the entire meal.

Christian grinned. "That's why we spend several months on table etiquette, when we're quite young—several years younger than you are," he said. "I'll tell you a secret, though. I'm not sure about other royal families; but in mine, at least, we're not as formal when it's merely family members eating a regular meal together. This level of formality is more a matter of keeping up appearances than anything else, but there are some countries where it's insisted on."

"Huh," mumbled Nia, then looked at Leslie. "You said this is for three six-year-old girls. Are they getting all this stuff too?"

"Oh, they're already princesses in their fantasies," Leslie said. "It, uh, kind of comes with the territory. But I didn't hear Christian scolding you too much, so you must've done pretty well."

"Only 'cause I'm graceful for this weekend," Nia decided through a sigh. "Anyway, Prince Christian, thanks for teaching me. What else do I have to know?"

Christian smiled a little slyly. "Where should I start? Formal modes of address, various dances, what to do when someone asks you personal questions that are none of their business..."

Leslie delivered a light punch to his bicep. "Oh, be nice," she scolded, and he chuckled. Turning to Nia, she added, "Christian and I have something to do, but tell you what—come back here about two, and we can show you something else."

 _"We?"_ repeated Christian with an arched brow, and she shrugged; Nia snickered as the prince turned back to her. "You should learn at least how to waltz, if nothing else, and how to address other royalty—particularly the ones who really are royal. Two o'clock, as Leslie said, and we'll begin there, all right?" Nia agreed and excused herself, thanked all three of them again, and ran off the veranda.

"We have had several acceptances of invitations to the royal ball," Roarke told them when she was gone. "Of course, they are quite obscure, but authentically royal: two Hohenzollern family members, along with at least half a dozen nobles and royals from the extensive Reuss family of Germany; relatives of the young French Duke of Anjou, Louis Alphonse; and several members of the former Greek royal family. I am awaiting responses from Belgian, Portuguese and Spanish royal relations, and there may be a few Italian royals in the mix. And oh yes, you may be interested in knowing that King Errico's youngest brother, twenty-two-year-old Prince Mattéano, has informed us that he plans to be here. I am told he has forgone participation in a minor equine race to make time to attend our little ball."

Even Christian looked impressed. "The Duke of Anjou and the Hohenzollerns? You must have some power of persuasion I can't lay claim to." To Leslie, he explained, "The Duke of Anjou would be King Louis XX if France were still a monarchy, and the Hohenzollerns would be the ruling family of Germany in the same vein. Their Prince Georg Friedrich of Prussia would hold the throne as the successor to Kaiser Wilhelm. It's almost a shame that we're relegated to settling for relatives, rather than the successors themselves. I have a strong suspicion that Louis Alphonse, especially, would find it highly enjoyable to be king in fact, rather than in historical theory."

Leslie grinned and countered, "I'll take your word for it, but according to the requirements of the fantasy, there has to be a queen. Is he married?"

"Ach," Christian blurted and snapped his fingers with exaggerated disappointment. "No, he isn't, now that I think about it. I suppose we'll have to keep searching."

Roarke laughed. "Apparently. I appreciate your assistance, both of you. When Nia Garrett returns at two, Leslie, I'll need you to come with me and make a discreet check on the Egan children."

She agreed, and a few minutes later she and Christian left the house, both searching for Todd and Jillian Egan. It didn't take them too long to find them; the Egans were sunning themselves poolside, with Todd seemingly napping and Jillian reading a book. Surprise crossed the woman's face when she recognized Christian and Leslie, and she poked Todd in the side. "Wake up—look who's here!" she insisted.

Todd sat up and blinked in the sun, then offered a hand. "Nice to meet you, Prince."

Christian almost protested that he no longer had the title, then seemed to think better of it and simply shook hands. "Good to meet you as well." He pulled up a chair and sat down while Leslie perched on the end of Jillian's lounge chair. "We, uh, thought you'd like to know that we've managed to persuade genuine royalty from several European countries to attend your daughters' ball."

"Yeah? No kidding, that's great," Todd said. "I just hope we weren't putting you too far out of your way."

"No," Leslie fibbed, deciding against telling them what trouble they'd been having digging up a genuine king and queen. "But I've been wondering about something, and I thought I'd ask before I forget again. Why don't you two want to be the king and queen for Ramona and Renata and Delaney?"

Todd and Jillian looked at each other, then back at Leslie, and both smiled a little sheepishly. "I guess it's just out of self-consciousness," Jillian said finally, with a little shrug. "Todd and I've known each other most of our lives, and growing up together, we and our friends were always playing cowboys and Indians. Playing royals never crossed our minds. And we're not very comfortable with all the formality and the stiff manners and the correctness of everything."

Leslie noticed Christian bite back a smile and squelched one of her own. "Hmm, I see. That's interesting. Then how did Delaney and the twins get so into the Disney princesses?"

"Who knows?" Todd remarked, laughing. "We were raised on Disney, ourselves. Remember the old TV show?" Leslie grinned and nodded. "We just wanted to share it with our girls, and Delaney got into it from spending so much time hanging out with Ramona and Renata. She's my brother's daughter, but Josh and Gwen travel a lot for their company, and she spends a lot of time with us."

"So we couldn't leave her out of Ramona and Renata's fantasy," Jillian put in. "Anyway, I think the girls want to meet a real, live, honest-to-gosh ruling king and queen. They know there aren't that many of those left on the planet these days, but that didn't make it totally impossible."

"I see," mused Leslie. "Well, that's what we're here for. Thanks for the enlightenment; we'll let you get back to being nice and lazy." Todd and Jillian laughed, thanked them, and settled back down as Christian and Leslie arose and departed the pool area.

"Why didn't you tell them we're having trouble procuring a genuine king and queen?" Christian asked when they were well away from the pool area.

"What, and spoil all their illusions about Father?" Leslie riposted, making him laugh.

"Perhaps...but Mrs. Egan was right when she said there aren't many genuine ruling kings and queens left in the world today. Unless Mr. Roarke plans to do a little conjuring of some sort, or to find an obscure little country no one's ever heard of that's ruled by a king and queen, you have a problem."

"That I know, but I'm fresh out of ideas. Hey, I'm curious. Just how many royals and nobles are there on the guest list for the royal Christmas ball, anyway?"

"Ach, I'm not sure, but three or four dozen perhaps—something like that. Mr. Egan mentioned an old TV show. What of that?"

"Oh yeah, _The Wonderful World of Disney_. They used to show family movies, or educational documentaries. It ended before I finished elementary school, I think, but I still remember watching it now and then. I don't remember their ever running any of the old classic Disney animated movies, though, and especially not the princess movies. The Egans must have stocked up on Disney tapes and DVDs of all kinds, including the princess films—anything with Walt Disney's name on it. That might explain the girls' introduction to the princess movies and then their fascination with them."

"That sounds plausible. Well, I don't think there's much we can do about the situation right this minute. It's the dead of night in Lilla Jordsö right now, and I don't want to pester Anna-Laura about this thing and keep her awake all night. Once it's after about eight or nine here, we can try again, but till then, we'll simply have to wonder what your father has in mind."

‡ ‡ ‡

At two, Leslie left Christian sitting in the study making a few sketches for a website someone had asked him to design, and slipped into the time-travel room with Roarke, wondering exactly what sort of world they were going to peek into. Roarke consulted his gold pocket watch, then eyed the back of the room where there was a door that Leslie knew wasn't normally there. The last time she'd seen one there, she was pretty sure, was the time she and Christian had played roles in one segment of a fantasy in which the guests had gone back in time to witness the founding of Lilla Jordsö by Christian's distant ancestor Magnus Ormssvärd. "Uh...is all this going to be animated?" she asked finally.

"No," Roarke said, chuckling. "One thing the Egans forgot to tell you, but mentioned in their initial letter to me, is that the children have seen not only all the Disney princess films, but the classic Rodgers & Hammerstein musical version of the Cinderella fairy tale. It was simple enough to borrow from that for Renata's part of the fantasy. Ramona's and Delaney's were only slightly more difficult, certainly nothing to lose sleep over. We'll look in on Renata first."

They stepped quietly through the door and into a scene that made Leslie's mouth fall open. The scene in front of her was straight out of Disney's version of Cinderella, but with actual living beings: Renata, still clad in a limp, gray shift with ragged edges, was giggling like something possessed while three plump women stood nearby bickering energetically. Leslie would have taken them for grandmothers at first glance, if it hadn't been for the iridescent, transparent wings sprouting out of their shoulder blades. Birds, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, mice and deer clustered around the women, making all sorts of noise. Leslie tuned in and thought she was losing her mind: she could have sworn she heard those animals talking, just like in the animated film.

She gave Roarke a hard stare. "Are those animals _arguing_ with those three women?"

"Of course," said Roarke, as if they were witnessing a tea party. His attention centered on a clump of animals engaged in a loud and lively debate. "Unfortunately, they are not contributing very much to the discussion."

All of a sudden Renata shouted at the tops of her lungs, _"Hey, you guys!"_ Every other voice fell silent; Leslie slapped a hand over her suddenly pounding heart, for as Renata carried on, she brought back memories of Kelly. "Listen, I already know who you are. Flora, Fauna and Merriweather. You can't sing 'Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo' right now 'cause I haven't got time. You're supposed to help me figure out a really nice and pretty ball gown so I can dance with Prince Charming, and all the animals are supposed to help make it, and some of you mice are gonna be horses, and some of you other guys are gonna be coachmen, and oh yeah, we gotta find a pumpkin so I have something to ride to the ball in. But we really gotta hurry up. I don't have all weekend!"

"Oh, my goodness, dear, right away," blurted one of the winged old women, and chaos erupted while everyone, human and animal alike, scurried this way and that, barking orders at each other, bumping into each other, and stopping now and then to curtsy to Renata. For her part, Renata gave her own orders, pointing out which way each person or group of animals should go, and beamed in satisfaction, watching them all disappear.

"Well, it appears you have everything under control, Renata," commented Roarke.

Renata's head cranked around and she blinked at them, then grinned. "Yeah, I kinda had to take charge. I dunno why they were all so mixed up."

"Perhaps they expected someone just a little older," Roarke offered whimsically.

Renata giggled. "Oh well, I know I'm not a teenager, but I _am_ still Cinderella. I know 'cause you said. And I think in the movie Cinderella had, like, a week to do all her stuff and make the prince fall in love with her, but I've got just today, so I said they had to quit singing and all that. I can't wait to see the dress they make for me...and the glass slippers too!" She noticed Leslie standing there with her eyes closed, and asked as if thinking Leslie couldn't hear her, "Is there something wrong with Mrs. Enstad, Mr. Roarke? I mean, she looks like she might cry."

"I think she'll be just fine," Roarke assured the child. "I suggest you concentrate on your fantasy. After all, remember, you have only a little time to become the princess."

"Yeah, that's right," Renata blurted. "I guess I better go find the fairy godmothers and make sure they're working instead of fighting. See you later, Mr. Roarke!" She scuttled away into the nearby trees, where Roarke could just make out the last flutterings of fairy wings.

"Leslie, are you all right?" he asked.

She opened her eyes, and instantly the tears that had been building behind the lids spilled out. "She's so much like my sisters, Father. She started out shy like Kristy, and even kind of looked like her. And if Kelly were the one having this fantasy, taking charge like Renata just did is exactly what she would've done. And she might've said all that in exactly the same words, too."

Roarke smiled a little. "The memories are still that strong?"

"I think they always will be," Leslie admitted.

The smile widened. "Treasure them," he advised. "Kristy and Kelly will never truly die as long as you remember them. Come, let's take a look into Ramona's fantasy."

It turned out that Ramona was just then meeting Aladdin, and Leslie was ready to swear that the girl was speaking the movie's lines word for word. But that didn't keep the child's own personality from shining through—and again Leslie found herself on the edge of tears, for Ramona's battles with bone cancer had left her in a state of fragility that somehow called Kristy to mind—a delicate, regal child who didn't want to admit to her frailties, but could still be easily intimidated. The Jasmine fantasy turned out to be perfect for her, since Roarke had taken a minor liberty with the movie and arranged things so that Ramona would spend at least as much time being carried around in a small palanquin as she did on her own two feet. Unlike Renata, Ramona was too absorbed in being Jasmine to take any notice of Roarke and Leslie, and they left her to her own devices, satisfied that she was doing as well as she could. The same was true of Delaney, who was in the middle of battle training in her disguise as a boy. Her attempts to deepen her voice to sound like one made Leslie have to choke back laughter.

When they emerged from the time-travel room, Christian looked up and then over at the grandfather clock. "There are still a few minutes before this condensed Royal Comportment class," he said, standing up and laying his sketches atop the tea table. "I thought—" Then he got a better look at his wife. "Leslie, my Rose, what's wrong?"

"Those two little girls, the Egan twins...they just remind me so much of my sisters," she said with a shrug that was a little too forced to be truly dismissive. About to divert his attention, she met his gaze and saw worry in his hazel eyes, and instead admitted, "Maybe too much."

"Perhaps you need a break," Christian said, his regard shifting to Roarke as he said it.

"It's her strong empathy again," Roarke said with another faint smile. "This isn't the first fantasy she's witnessed that evoked her memories so vividly. Your suggestion is an excellent one, Christian. Since you will be spending some time coaching Nia Garrett—and since I believe Christian seems to think you may need a few lessons of your own, Leslie—this will provide that break, and perhaps you'll have a chance to recover enough to complete the weekend."

"Then I'll take you home Monday morning and you can purge all those emotions on me," added Christian with a wink. "For now, my Rose, let's just see what we can teach young Nia."

‡ ‡ ‡

Christian stayed with Leslie in her old room at the main house, an event that was still rare for him, and completed an assignment for a computer-related course that he was taking via correspondence at Lilla Jordsö's own Premier University while they waited for the hour to grow late enough for him to contact his sister. Leslie tried to read for a while, but eventually gave up and let her mind wander, now and then watching Christian writing, in his tidy, ruler-level script, on an assignment page. Their lesson with Nia Garrett had gone pretty well; the girl had picked up the waltz with little trouble, though Nia had attributed this to the grace that Roarke's potion had afforded her for the weekend. But she was also quick to master the proper forms of address for various royalty and nobility, and it hadn't taken her very long to perfect a formal curtsy. Leslie had had a hard time hiding her jealousy; she could remember the previous year when Anna-Laura, Christian, and their sister-in-law Amalia had labored for a good three hours to perfect Leslie's curtsy and run her through the protocol and rituals for Gabriella's coronation.

Finally she flopped over backwards onto the mattress and stared at the canopy over her head. She was trying to remember whether she'd ever actually had a chance to watch any of the Disney princess movies straight through when Christian's voice startled her. "Bored, my Rose?"

"Who, me?" she retorted sarcastically, and he laughed.

"That's all right, I don't blame you. Don't worry, I'm nearly finished with this, and I can send it back to my professor at Premier tomorrow. That should leave me with only one more assignment in this course and then a comprehensive quiz, and I'll have completed it." He peered over his shoulder at the page that lay on her old desk near her computer, then turned back toward her, rising and resettling himself on the bed beside her while she pushed herself back into a sitting position. "Tell me...how do the Egan twins remind you of your sisters?"

Leslie shrugged. "Mannerisms, mostly. It's not like one of them's just like Kristy and the other's just like Kelly. They both have traits that both of my sisters had. Renata, for example. She was shy at first, at the bungalow when Father was getting them started on their fantasies, but then when we checked up on the kids, she just jumped in and took charge." She described Renata giving orders to the fairy godmothers and the animals in her Cinderella fantasy.

Christian laughed again and braced himself on his arms, leaning back, with hands planted flat down on the mattress. "The shyness was like Kristy, and the order-giving was pure Kelly?"

"Exactly. Ramona was a lot the same—kind of frail and fragile because she had bone cancer and that left her weaker, which made her sort of like Kristy, even though Kristy's fragility was really more emotional than physical. But she had no problem being regal and royal, which is another of Kristy's mannerisms—and like Kelly, she took charge and made sure everybody knew what she wanted them to do. Occasionally something in their faces reminds me of my sisters too, but it's their actions more than anything else." She blew out a breath. "Believe me, there were times when Kristy and Kelly both drove me mad, but that's true of all siblings. I miss those two, almost as much as I miss Mom."

"Of course you do, my darling. Admittedly, I have less of a frame of reference, since Arnulf is the only sibling I've lost..." Christian smirked when she rolled her eyes, then sobered. "But once in a while, Arnulf let himself relax. He was definitely our father's son, make no mistake about that, and in fact he often exceeded Father's peccadilloes and turned them into major flaws. Still, he wasn't all bad. In his way, he loved his daughters, and I know he loved Kristina. And he did, after all, seek forgiveness last year after his heart attack. But—" and here he grinned again— "that's as far as I'm willing to go."

Leslie laughed and leaned into him. "From everything you told me in all those e-mails, and from what I gathered that one and only time I ever met him, I can't honestly say I blame you. But I hope you won't have to go through truly missing a sibling anytime soon."

"I as well," he murmured, kissing her cheek just as Roarke appeared in the hallway outside the bedroom door. "Oh, hello, Mr. Roarke."

"Hello, Christian, Leslie. I thought you two would like to know that we have another confirmed attendee at tomorrow's royal ball. One of the Bernadottes owed me a favor, and I called it in."

Christian snickered while Leslie tried to place the name. "Bernadotte?"

"A relation to the Swedish royal family," Christian explained. "That's good news, then." He lifted his wrist from Leslie's shoulder and peered around her to check his watch. "I didn't know the hour had gotten that late. I think I can safely call the castle now."

"Thanks, Father," Leslie said, and Roarke smiled, wished them good night and left.

Rising, Christian closed the bedroom door, then put through another call to the royal castle in Lilla Jordsö. Within about a minute he was speaking with his sister, again employing his gently musical native tongue, and Leslie began to realize that just listening to him use his own language had the capacity to turn her on. She was wrestling with the question of whether to make a move on him when he concluded his conversation and ended the call. "Well, that's another one. Anna-Laura says that Anna-Kristina's coming along with Ceci and Axel. And she's fairly well acquainted with the Danish and Norwegian royal families, which are actually closely related, so there will be some fairly close relatives to both families in attendance too."

"Related how?" asked Leslie.

"When Norway declared its independence from Sweden, they chose one of the Danish princes to be their new king, nearly a century ago now. Anna-Laura said that when she contacted the Danish royals she knows, they promised to bring along a few members of Norway's royal clan. Not to worry, you'll have no shortage of royalty at that ball."

"But we still don't have an actual king and queen," Leslie protested. "What are we going to do about that?"

"Good question," Christian murmured. "But for now, that's no longer our worry, is it?" His hazel eyes took on a particular gleam. "I could feel your hand moving along my leg while I was talking with my sister. I don't suppose you have something in mind."

"I did at that," Leslie said softly. That got her a broad smile before he kissed her and made her forget all else for the rest of that night.


	18. Chapter 18

**§ § § - July 14, 2002**

Roarke made a check on both fantasies about mid-morning, then disappeared shortly after ten-thirty without telling Leslie where he was going. She was used to his being out making rounds; she did the same thing nearly every weekend, and there were always long stretches of time when they weren't in the same room. But very seldom was it that he went somewhere without giving her at least a general idea of his whereabouts; usually, if he did, it was in connection with a fantasy. After puzzling over it for a bit, she decided it must have something to do with preparations for the royal ball for the Egan girls that evening, and let the issue fall by the wayside.

She answered a few phone calls, sorted through the mail, scheduled fantasy requests that Roarke had screened and accepted, and was in the middle of printing acceptance letters for those requests when Christian walked in. "Hard at work, are you?" he asked with a teasing smile.

"Oh, hi, my love," she said, brightening at sight of him. "Is it lunchtime already?"

"A few more minutes, I think," he said, crossing the room and pausing to watch sheets of resort letterhead being spat out of the printer. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing acceptance letters to go out," she told him. "That mail-merge program really saves a lot of time. We don't use it all the time, but if I fall behind like I did today, it comes in handy."

"Good," said Christian and smiled. "Where's Mr. Roarke?"

"I don't know, actually. He left here around ten-thirty and hasn't been back since. I have no idea what he's up to—he didn't tell me where he was going. He did say that you and I should go and meet the two-o'clock charter, though. Presumably your nieces and nephew-in-law are on board."

"Ah, then in that case, I'll take the afternoon off. I've helped everyone catch up on backlogged repairs, and all I have left are website designs that are still in the early stages. Let's go and eat—that program will finish by itself, and if you like, I'll help you fill envelopes after lunch."

Roarke still hadn't returned by the time they completed this task; baffled, Leslie glanced around the study, shrugged, and suggested, "Let's go to the post office. There's probably about five tons of mail there to pick up anyway, so we may as well drop this off. I have to buy a couple more rolls of stamps anyway."

Christian examined the colorful stamp on the topmost envelope in the bucket Leslie carried. It was rectangular and showed a blue waterfall pouring into an even bluer pool, spraying white froth as it fed the little swimming hole, at the right-hand side; at left was a vivid-pink hibiscus blossom against a green background, with a strip of blue sky crossing the top. At the bottom of the stamp were the words _Fantasy Island Postage_ in pearlescent white. "Is that the only design we have?"

"Yep. It's not like we need another one to keep the stamp collectors happy," Leslie remarked with a grin, "considering it's fairly rare to get a stamp from here in the first place." Christian laughed, and they left the house together.

At the post office, they ran into Todd and Jillian Egan, who were in line for stamps so they could send postcards to friends in the states. After a little small talk, Jillian asked, "Are the girls doing okay in their fantasies?"

Leslie nodded, relinquishing the heavy mail bucket to Christian when he tugged on it. "Father checked on them this morning and they're all still having the time of their lives. He's going to bring them out of their individual fairy tales around six this evening, let them choose ballgowns, and then bring them to their birthday ball. If you two like, you can dress up about an hour or so beforehand and be at the main house about five forty-five."

"Where's the ball being held?" Todd asked. "Not that I look forward to confining myself in a monkey suit, you understand, but it's for the kids, and anyway, Jillian's had the girls in the back of her mind all weekend. It's all I could do to get her to relax."

"I'm a mother," said Jillian. "I can't help it. And don't tell me you haven't been thinking of them at all." She nailed Todd with an accusing stare.

He grinned. "Yeah, well, I have, but I'm not obsessing like you are, babe. So like I said, Mrs. Enstad—where's the ball?"

"Down at the old opera house. We're providing a limo to take you over there. Don't worry about anything, please. It's early afternoon and you still have time to do as much nothing as you want."

The Egans laughed, thanked her, and moved up to the counter when their turn in line came up. A minute or so later, Christian and Leslie stepped up, and Christian slid the bucket over to the postal clerk. "I presume we have a big fat load to take home," Leslie said through a small sigh.

"Only half a bucket, Miss Leslie," the clerk said, to her surprise. "Mr. Roarke collected two buckets this morning, so there's not that much new mail. Let me get it for you." The girl hefted up the bucket Christian had given her and headed for the back of the post office.

Christian checked his Rolex and turned to scan the street through the window behind them. "You said he left at ten-thirty and you haven't seen him since then?" he asked his wife.

"Yeah, it's been almost four hours now," Leslie said, frowning. "He's never been gone this long before, not without some kind of word. He just told me he had something to do and he'd be gone a while, and that was it."

"Interesting. Perhaps once we get this last bucket, we should go back to the main house and just wait there. We can probably choose from Mr. Roarke's costume stock when it's time for us to get ready for that ball. Something tells me this calls for white tie and tails, and I don't happen to own a tuxedo that formal." Christian grinned, watching the clerk return with another bucket. "I don't dare tell my sister that. She'd insist that I go out immediately and buy one."

Laughing, Leslie accepted the bucket, thanked the clerk and paid for two rolls of stamps before leading the way out of the post office. Back at the main house, they found the study still empty, and got busy with the mail; about ten minutes later Mariki walked in with a pitcher of reddish-purple liquid and two crystal tumblers atop a silver tray. "I thought you two might want some refreshments," she offered, setting the tray onto the desk. "I made some sangria."

"Oh, that's wonderful—thank you, Mariki," Leslie said, delighted; she had always loved Mariki's special non-alcoholic sangria.

"Isn't Mr. Roarke back yet?" the cook asked.

"No, and we haven't seen him at all," said Leslie. "I wish he'd at least told me where he was going. By the way, don't worry about supper. Father and Christian and I are all going to be eating at that birthday ball we're putting on for the Egan fantasy."

"Oh, that's right," Mariki said. "Well, then, if you don't need me for anything else, I'll send the staff home and clean up the kitchen. There's not much to do anyway."

Leslie nodded. "You don't have to run the dishwasher before you go. When we finish this, I'll take the pitcher and glasses in and put them in the dishwasher, and get it started."

Mariki seemed about to protest, then apparently thought better of it and nodded. "Okay, Miss Leslie and Your Highness, enjoy the ball."

"Have a good evening off," Leslie replied, and Christian wished her the same sentiment as she headed back to the kitchen. He filled the tumblers and pushed one across the desk at Leslie, who thanked him and slit open another envelope.

Just then the door opened, and Maureen Harding came in. "I've got a slight emergency—" she began, then stopped just at the top of the steps from the inner foyer. "Where's Mr. Roarke?"

"Beats me," said Leslie. "What do you need?"

"What d'you mean, 'beats you'?" Maureen asked in disbelief, stepping down into the room. "Shouldn't he be here?"

"Normally he would be, but I guess something came up. I haven't seen him since ten-thirty, and I have no clue where he is or when he'll be back. What can I do for you?"

"Oh. I just wanted to give him a copy of the final menu for this birthday bash we're catering," said Maureen, handing Leslie a printed sheet of paper. "It's going to be a banquet, so I had to bring in Mom and every one of our employees, including the part-timers." She noticed Christian's interested expression and grinned at him. "Don't worry, we all know how to conduct ourselves at a formal royal affair like this. All our servers know exactly what to do—we had a two-hour rehearsal this morning. The women will be in white blouses and black skirts, and the men are wearing black slacks and white shirts. We all have ties, too. Nice and formal."

"Perhaps too much so," Christian commented, shaking his head with some amusement. "It seems Mr. Roarke decided to go all out for these little girls. We've spent the whole weekend attempting to book an authentic ruling king and queen for this thing, and still haven't found anyone."

Leslie sat up straight. "Wait a minute, that must be where he is now—trying to line up somebody! I can't believe I didn't think of that!"

"Ach, of course," Christian agreed, rolling his eyes. "Unfortunately, the fact that he's been gone for so long doesn't augur well."

"Maybe you'll get to play the part," Maureen suggested mischievously.

"Only at great cost to Mr. Roarke," shot back Christian, making Leslie and Maureen laugh. "I think if he's going to this much effort to find an actual king and queen, this once I'll be spared."

"This looks good," Leslie said, turning her attention to the menu, then blinking as she took in the extensive list of dishes. "Good, nothing...this is extravagant! Christian, my love, look at all this!" She handed him the menu and gaped at Maureen. "You guys must have been cooking since yesterday morning to have all this stuff!"

"It's an international smorgasbord," Christian commented. "I'm highly impressed."

"Well, we kept getting phone calls from Mr. Roarke letting us know we had to add one more country's dish to the menu, so it just grew and grew. I think we have stuff from about twenty countries on there. If all those people are authentic royalty, I have no idea where you found them all."

"They're all European, judging from these dishes," Christian noted, "although not every country in Europe has leftover royalty." He took in their skeptical expressions and grinned. "When was the last time you heard about Swiss or Finnish royalty?"

"Huh, no wonder we didn't get a request to make Swiss fondue or anything Finnish," Maureen bantered. "Still, it's mind-boggling. As far as I can tell, almost every country in Europe has either ruling royalty or deposed royalty. And if they don't have royalty, they've got nobility. You never hear about non-ruling royals, so when I went home and did some digging around online, I was really floored. Who knew there were so many pretenders to abolished thrones."

"It amazed me too," Leslie admitted. "But for all that, we can't get our hands on an authentic, documented king and queen. And we need them for only about four hours, tops."

Maureen shook her head. "Geez. Well, I wish you luck anyway. I need to get back to the shop. Mom's handling the Romanian entries on that menu and I'm trying to keep her from spicing things up too much." She left the Enstads chuckling, hurrying out the door.

"You didn't tell her the Finns were ruled by the Swedes for centuries, so they did have a monarchy, even if it was a borrowed one," Leslie teased her husband.

"Why bother with petty details?" Christian replied with a grin. "Let's see if we can finish all this before Mr. Roarke gets back."

They did, and even went to the plane dock to greet the charter containing Christian's nieces Anna-Kristina and Cecilia and his nephew-in-law Axel. Upon returning to the main house, they discovered that the study remained empty; and they were still staring at each other, having completed every last bit of work they could think of to do, when Roarke strolled in through the open French shutters. Both Enstads popped to their feet. "Father, where on earth have you been all day?" Leslie exclaimed.

"On a massive search," said Roarke, whose features sprouted a mysterious little smile. "And I have finally located an authentic king and queen for the birthday ball. Christian, if you would, please, wear one of your royal dress uniforms to the ball—the white one if possible. Make sure the sash is attached to it, please. And Leslie, you might be able to find something formal in my costume stock. This is, after all, a fantasy for several little girls, and the emphasis is on royalty; so play it up."

"I can't get away from that title of mine, can I," Christian pretended to complain, but he was chuckling, although in resignation. "Well enough, I'll be certain to appear in full formal royal dress uniform. I think, my Leslie Rose, that it might be wise if you wore a royal sash as well. Anna-Laura and my nieces have them, for the most formal and official of royal functions. Do you suppose, Mr. Roarke, that there might be time to locate such a sash for Leslie?"

"I think that can be done," Roarke replied with a smile. "Thank you both for keeping things running smoothly around here. Go ahead and start preparing for the ball, and when you're both ready, come down here and await me—I'll need to bring the children out of their Disney fantasies."

On their way back to their house to begin their preparations, Christian frowned suddenly, drumming his fingers on the wheel. "I forgot to ask what king and queen Mr. Roarke managed to convince to attend this royal party to end all royal parties. Judging from his insistence that it be as formal as we can make it, I'm beginning to fear he somehow coerced Queen Elizabeth II."

"She wouldn't qualify," Leslie said, grinning at him. "Prince Philip isn't the king, and you know there had to be a king."

"Oh, for fate's sake," Christian groaned, but he let out a reluctant laugh. "All right, all right, but he really has my curiosity piqued. I suppose for now we'll have to concentrate on our attire. If it's as formal as Mr. Roarke hinted at, I may have to assist you in choosing a gown."

"I wonder what the odds are that we'll have to wear crowns, like the Disney princesses," Leslie mused, and Christian growled warningly at her, making her giggle.

It took them more than an hour and a half to get ready; part of this was due to Christian having to track down the assorted pins and military decorations that went with his uniform, muttering now and then about how in the castle a servant would have had them all lined up and ready to attach. When he was fully dressed, he turned to Leslie and steered her toward one of the two walk-in closets he had designed into the master bedroom when he'd been drawing up house plans many years before. "Let's take a look at the things you got on that shopping trip you went on with Stina, Anna-Laura and Michiko last year for Briella's coronation."

She patiently suffered his painstaking ministrations while he sorted through her formal gowns, chose one at some length, and debated the merits of taking her into town to have her hair and makeup done professionally. Finally she informed him, "Listen, Christian, the longer you spend trying to decide whether to do it or not, the less time we have to do it if you think we should. I bet Stina and Ceci are getting theirs done, so why not me?"

He shrugged and agreed with a little toss of his hands. "Well enough. Fate save us, I truly hope this is worth all this fuss. Come on, my Rose, let's hurry."

She did indeed have her hair and makeup done at Lauren's sister Deborah's salon; then they went on to the main house, where Roarke nodded with warm approval at Christian's attire and took in Leslie's dress—a lovely rose pink with gold accents. "I believe the sash I've found for you will go very well with that gown. Wait here." He left the room but returned a moment later with a narrow gold-edged sash, the same length as Christian's but about half as wide; its royal red clashed a little with her gown, but the gold edging complemented it perfectly. The ends of the sash were sewn together, as with Christian's, and were tucked away under the gold-shot rose-pink sash around Leslie's waist. Roarke surveyed her and nodded. "You both look eminently royal, and perfect for the occasion. The children and Mr. and Mrs. Egan are already waiting for us at the old opera house, and we'll have one more guest accompanying us. Come out with me."

On the porch they found Nia Garrett standing near the steps, wearing a peach-colored gown and a matched set of diamond jewelry—necklace, bracelet and small drop earrings. Her hair had been piled into a twist atop her head, and she was even wearing low heels. "Wow," she said as they approached her. "This is just beyond cool. It's even more than I dreamed about. And being graceful too...I mean, gosh, Mr. Roarke and Mrs. Enstad, this was the best weekend I ever had." She looked overwhelmed.

"You're gorgeous, Nia, and you look really royal too," Leslie said with a grin. "I hope by now your parents and siblings have noticed."

"Well, when I got this really cool engraved invitation to that birthday ball, that sure got their attention," Nia admitted with a sheepish giggle as they all climbed into the limo and sat back for the ride. "My dumb brothers and sisters made fun of me all afternoon, and my parents were kind of confused, but then this really nice native girl came to take me to get my hair done and get fitted for my dress and my shoes, and to pick out the jewelry I'm wearing. And I got to go back to the bungalow to show my parents. Mom and my stepdad were blown away, and every single one of my brothers and sisters just stared and stared. None of them said a word." By now Nia was grinning with delight, her eyes aglow. "And would you believe it? My sister and my stepsister were both _jealous!_ I think that was the best feeling in the world!"

The Enstads and Roarke all laughed, and after that the mood in the car was light. Once they reached the old opera house, Roarke turned to Nia. "This will be the culmination of your fantasy, Nia. You are to step out of the car and walk in alone, and you'll be introduced as Princess Nia of Rothersay Isle. A fictional country for you to oversee just for this night."

"Seriously cool," Nia breathed. "You're the best, Mr. Roarke, thanks a gazillion."

At the old opera house, Nia stepped out of the car before the others, and they watched her walk into the door, faintly hearing a deep voice (with, as it turned out, a slight British accent) announcing her as Princess Nia of Rothersay Isle. Christian laughed softly. "So tell me, Mr. Roarke, about the birthday girls. Leslie told me they spent the weekend as their favorite Disney princesses, but are they to remain in those guises for this party?"

"They are indeed," said Roarke, "and furthermore, just for this occasion I've brought to life the other Disney princess characters for them to meet. And of course, the reigning king and queen will make their entrance after all the rest of the guests have arrived. I'll precede you two inside, and then when you can no longer see me through the doorway, you'll follow."

"But who are the king and queen you found?" Leslie asked.

Roarke smiled in that maddeningly mysterious way of his and said only, "You'll see. Now, we'll meet inside." With that, he got out of the car, and Christian and Leslie watched him vanish into the doorway, hearing the voice announcing his arrival.

"I suppose they're going to append us with my full title and the one you received when we were married," Christian mused with a small sigh. He scanned his uniform and the sash, then laughed without warning. "Oh, for fate's sake, I may as well lighten up. It's only a fantasy, after all!"

"Exactly, my love," Leslie said, grinning. "Come on, it's our turn to be formally presented."

They were handed out of the car by its driver, and once on their feet they joined hands and walked into the opera house at a leisurely stroll. The native man at the door brightened at sight of them. "This will be a real treat for the attendees, Miss Leslie," he said conspiratorially, before offering Christian a slight bow and then speaking into his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Prince Christian and Princess Leslie of Lilla Jordsö!"

It took Christian and Leslie ten minutes to cross the room because of all the greetings and well-wishes they received from various and sundry deposed European royalty. They were still short of the Egan twins and their cousin when Cecilia, Axel and Anna-Kristina happened upon them. "Uncle Christian, you look so elegant!" Cecilia exclaimed, delighted. "I don't think I've ever seen you in that uniform before."

"You certainly have," said Christian firmly. "I wore it at the last two coronations, you might recall." He grinned at her. "But it's good to see you. And you as well, Axel."

"Your Highness," Axel Tenner-Strömberg replied with a nod, accepting Christian's hand and shaking. "Ceci and Anna-Kristina were both incredibly excited about this, and couldn't stop talking the entire trip over here. I think they were bored."

"Maybe Briella should give you two something to do," Christian remarked mischievously to his nieces.

Cecilia rolled her eyes; Anna-Kristina, predictably, grumbled, "Oh, Uncle Christian."

Christian smirked, then gave both young women a jaundiced look. "Neither of you has even bothered to greet Leslie. Did she become invisible all of a sudden?"

Anna-Kristina promptly hugged Leslie; Cecilia smiled broadly and complimented her on her dress. "What's the big occasion that we're here celebrating?" she asked.

Leslie explained about the Egan twins' fantasy and added, "Father's bringing in an authentic king and queen from somewhere. He won't tell us who, and we're as clueless as everyone else in this room. I can't imagine where he could have found anyone. Christian was on the phone half the weekend himself, trying to dig up royalty to attend this thing, but no kings or queens were available. And since Father was gone all afternoon, I have to conclude that he needed to go to some serious lengths to produce the royalty in question."

"Undoubtedly," concurred Christian as his nieces looked at each other. "I'm looking forward to seeing the rulers he finally unearthed."

"And I'm looking forward to finding out why it took him forever to arrange it," said Leslie, earning laughter. "Well, you three have some fun. Christian and I have to find Father and touch base with our guests, particularly the birthday girls."

Christian let her lead him through the thickening crowd—they could tell from the frequent announcements of newly arrived royalty—till they gained a dais that reminded Christian of the one in the _jordisk_ royal castle. This one, however, was actually just a raised platform accessible by a small set of wooden steps at one side, and it held two large and three small thrones. The latter thrones were already occupied by the Egan girls, all of whose faces glowed with enough wattage to shame the chandeliers, eyes round as they took in all the elegantly dressed princes and princesses in the room. Neither Christian nor Leslie had thought it possible for their eyes to get any bigger, but somehow they did once the little girls caught sight of them. "Ooooh, that's the most bee- _yoooo_ -tiful royal costume in the whole room!" breathed Renata, clasping her hands under her chin. She was gaping at Christian's uniform, and Leslie couldn't blame her; she found Christian irresistible in it.

Christian grinned broadly at the little girl. "Thank you very much, Princess Cinderella! And may I say you look very pretty yourself. Those glass slippers are perfect on you." Renata giggled and thanked him, bouncing a little in her seat. Leslie had pegged her as the calmest and quietest of the three girls, but there was so much excitement and glamor in the air that clearly even Renata couldn't contain herself in the face of it all.

"All three of you look gorgeous," Leslie told the girls, waiting till they'd chirped their thank-yous and stopped giggling before leaning toward them. "Do you happen to know where my father is?"

"He came in and said hi to us and said we look pretty, and then he said he's going to start showing us princes and princesses, and he said there's gonna be two surprises for our birthday," Ramona told her in a boilover of pure adrenaline. "And I can't wait!"

"Then I guess we need to keep looking for him," Leslie said and laughed. "We'll send some of the royals your way so you can meet them, okay? We'll be back later to help you celebrate your birthday. Have you seen your mom and dad yet?"

"Yeah, they're here. They just went to get something to eat," Delaney explained.

Leslie nodded. "Okay, have fun, we'll be back soon."

"What did Princess Jasmine back there just tell you?" Christian wanted to know as he and Leslie plunged back into the crowd. "She spoke so fast I lost her words, and I wonder how on earth you figured out what she was saying."

"I could barely follow her myself, so don't feel bad, my love," Leslie said, grinning over her shoulder at him. "She just said Father was there to say hi to them, and told them he'd send royals over to meet the girls, and that there'll be two surprises for them. My guess is one of them will be the other Disney princesses, and the other might be the king and queen."

"Ah, I see," said Christian. "Well, forget the Disney princesses. The mystery of the monarchs gets deeper by the second, and I for one would like to see it solved."

The next hour, however, found them milling through the ever-growing guest list, with Christian greeting a raft of royals from deposed families while Leslie, feeling inadequate and distinctly like an interloper, smiled her way through his numerous introductions of her to them. So many names flashed past her that they began to float into one ear, straight through her head and right out the other ear. _Missing: one brain,_ she thought absurdly at one point. _If found, call Leslie Enstad at—_

Just then she spotted Roarke, standing out in his pure-white tie and tails from a knot of colorfully dressed guests, and her mind clicked back on. "Oh, there he is," she exclaimed, fortunately in between yet more of the endless introductions. "Come on, let's catch him before he gets away."

"Thank the fates," Christian said through a sigh. "I haven't talked this much at one time since that press conference we did last year to introduce you to the _jordiska_ people. Now I need something to drink. Perhaps there'll be some fairly decent wine here."

"The wine will be more than _fairly decent,_ Christian, I guarantee you that," Leslie informed him with an exaggerated huff. "You don't really think Father would serve less than the best, with all the royalty here tonight. And there'll be sparkling fruit juices for the Egan girls and Princess Nia, and maybe the Disney princesses, and anybody else who doesn't feel like imbibing."

Christian lofted a brow and riposted, "I do beg your pardon, Your Highness." She stuck out her tongue at him and he laughed, before they made a determined beeline for Roarke.

"Ah, there you are," Roarke said, spotting them approaching him. He excused himself to the others he was with and turned his full attention to his daughter and son-in-law. "It's good that you're here. I wanted to be sure you were, before I brought in tonight's very special guests. Now if you two would kindly make your way back to the princesses' thrones, you'll be the first to meet the monarchs. I'm going out at this very moment to escort them inside and have them properly announced."

"Who are they?" Leslie persisted.

"You'll see, as I told you before," Roarke said, his dark eyes twinkling at her eye-roll and frustrated growl. "A bit more decorum, my child, as befits a princess—even one without a title."

"Would you mind very much if Leslie and I got refreshments?" Christian broke in. "I've introduced her to perhaps two dozen other royals, and my throat is dry."

"Very well, but I want you both to go directly to the thrones as soon as you do," Roarke said. "I'll see you there." He nodded once at them and promptly got swallowed by the crowd.

"This mystery is so deep we could drown in it," Leslie complained, this time allowing Christian to take the lead on their way to the refreshment tables. "Is this driving you as crazy as it is me?"

"I wouldn't doubt it for a moment," said Christian. "He sounded determined to get the monarchs in here at double speed, so let's just hurry and get our drinks and get into place."

He got a glass of wine and Leslie opted for sparkling grape juice, just to quench her thirst; then they wove through the crowd to get back to the thrones. They were just in time, for from the entrance there came a fanfare, and the lights dimmed but for a spotlight on the door. Roarke stepped into the room, with a sumptuously clad man and woman right behind him. Leslie squinted at them; Christian leaned forward as if to see them better, then let out a gasp.

"Are my eyes working properly?" he demanded. "It simply can't be! How did he do that?"

Leslie stared at him, studied the monarchs, then turned back to Christian. _"Who are they?_ And how on earth do you know them?"


	19. Chapter 19

**§ § § - July 14, 2002**

Christian must have caught something in the tone of Leslie's demand, because he gave her a startled look, then chuckled. "I know them because they're King Carl IV and Queen Ingrid of Lilla Jordsö—my great-great-grandparents!"

Leslie yanked her head back in disbelief. "You're _kidding!"_

"That's precisely what my initial reaction was. Your father, the time-traveler. Apparently he had so much trouble finding any ruling monarchs for this thing that he decided he had to go back in time to get some. Fate in her mercy, these two have been dead for decades! My father was a five-year-old child when King Carl died, and Ingrid outlived her own son by three years. After Carl died, she became such a recluse that she never again ventured outside her own rooms, and for all I know the people forgot she even existed. So that makes it even more astonishing, if Mr. Roarke talked her into accompanying King Carl. Here they come—I suppose I'll find myself paying respects."

"Holy paradise," was all Leslie could think to say, and it was probably just as well, since at that moment Roarke reached them along with King Carl and Queen Ingrid. She tried not to stare, but had a hard time refraining, for the queen in particular was clad in a lavishly brocaded gown of a peculiar olive-drab color, lent visual interest only by the gold silk that constituted the design woven into the brocade. There was an understated, but heavily jewel-encrusted, tiara set snugly into her upswept graying coiffure, and her face seemed carved into permanently stern lines. Her sharp blue eyes landed on Leslie, who edged closer to Christian, before she caught sight of the three awestruck little girls sitting on their thrones; only then did her face soften.

"Mr. Roarke," said King Carl then, "you mentioned 'something extra' when you persuaded my wife and me to come here." His voice was deep, almost a bass; he didn't need to speak very loudly for it to carry a substantial distance. "May I ask what that 'something extra' would be?"

"Indeed so, Your Majesty," Roarke said with a smile. "May I present your great-great-grandson, Prince Christian; and his wife, my daughter Leslie."

The king tipped forward at the waist to scrutinize Christian, who wasted not another moment in presenting his regal ancestor with a proper and correct bow of obeisance. "Your Majesty," he murmured, straightening as he spoke.

"My great-great-grandson, eh?" Carl IV queried with interest. "Obviously Arnulf's boy, then."

Christian smiled. "Yes, Father had four children altogether; I'm the youngest."

"Ah, I see, I see. And this charming young lady is your wife then, trying to hide behind you?" the king chuckled indulgently.

Christian laughed. "Yes, this is Leslie, and we've been married a mere year and a half—it took me so long to find exactly the right woman that here I am in my forties and I'm still childless. But I'd do it the same way over again if it meant I could have Leslie in my life. Come here, my Rose, no need to be shy." He watched with a broad smile while Leslie sank low in the taxing curtsy she had performed at the moment of Gabriella's coronation the previous summer.

"Well done, that curtsy," observed Queen Ingrid, her voice strong and clear, if a little quavery from age ( _or is that some sort of Victorian affectation?_ Leslie wondered). "Now perhaps, you two young people will do as Mr. Roarke persisted in refusing, and explain to me and the king precisely what purpose we serve in coming here to what is clearly a very large affair."

Leslie found herself all but tongue-tied in the face of Ingrid's imperiousness, able to say only, "It's...it's a children's birthday party, Your Majesty."

"A special one," inserted Christian when he saw her struggle but fail to speak, and with that filled them in on what was happening. Once more Ingrid's face softened, and Carl's did as well while Christian directed their attention to the Egan girls. Meanwhile Leslie felt her face heat up enough to cook a pot of stew, and caught the eye of her amused father, who stepped to her side and winked in reassurance.

"They are quite proper and quite Victorian," Roarke told her in an undertone while Christian, ever the poised and gracious prince, was occupied with his great-great-grandparents. "In fact, Queen Ingrid is a great admirer of Queen Victoria, and emulates her in many ways. I am told it gained Victoria's approval, for the two queens met on several occasions during the late nineteenth century. But this king and queen both have hearts of gold, especially when it comes to children." He gestured toward them, and Leslie saw immediately that he was right; both Carl and Ingrid knelt in front of the three awed girls, all of whom presented the monarchs with curtsies and then began to bombard them with excited questions. Forgotten, Christian watched for a moment, then snickered and joined his wife and father-in-law, wrapping his hand around Leslie's.

"Well, you certainly surprised me," he commented, shaking his head. "It's odd to see them alive. There's an extremely formal and stern black-and-white official portrait of them that hangs in the castle, and that was the only indication I ever had of what they looked like. If you'll forgive me the observation, Mr. Roarke, for me it's rather like watching lookalike actors playing the roles." He grinned at Roarke's laugh, then pinned him with the question: "How on earth did you accomplish this? What made you decide to choose these two in particular, and why were you gone most of the day?"

"I'd be interested in the answer to that myself," Leslie agreed.

"Undoubtedly," Roarke observed in amusement, "but for now I'm afraid you two will have to play your parts as royalty, official title or not. Perhaps, Christian, you can enjoy getting acquainted with your great-great-grandparents; they must leave once this party has ended, so seize the opportunity while you have it." He winked at them and left.

"Pretty wild," Leslie said at some length, watching Roarke circulating through the crowd, speaking with guest after guest for a moment or two apiece. "You don't think King Carl and Queen Ingrid will have the answers to any questions you might want to ask them."

Christian shrugged and tossed a slightly guilty glance toward the personages in question. "I'm afraid the only question I can think of that I'd want to put to them is why they insisted on giving amakarna to their son—my great-grandfather, the last King Erik. I'm not sure it would be wise to do that, though. Maybe I'll just put that whole issue aside and let them talk about whatever they want to talk about. They can take the lead, and we'll see where the conversation goes. Perhaps they can tell me about Grandfather Lukas. That's a far happier subject."

Leslie grinned. "If they do, I want to hear it too. Everything I've ever heard about your grandfather makes him seem like a truly wonderful man. And how could he not be when he produced an equally wonderful grandson?" She planted a kiss on his lips, and he grinned back at her.

For another couple of hours the party centered, rightly so, on the Egan twins. The banquet, beautifully presented by Tomai's Catering, was held; birthday candles were blown out; cake was cut and served along with ice cream; presents were opened; and Disney princesses—brought to temporary life by Roarke for the evening—were presented to Ramona, Renata and Delaney. Then King Carl and Queen Ingrid formally presented Ramona and Renata to the gathering, wishing the twins a happy birthday before creating them and Delaney honorary _Jordiska Damer_. "Did you forget to tell me about that in your little Royal Comportment lesson?" Leslie teased her husband.

"I told you it was a crash course," Christian said, and on her snicker explained, "A _Jordisk Dam_ , or _Jordiska Damer_ in the plural, is the feminine counterpart to a _Jordisk Riddar_. That's our equivalent of a knight; so a _Jordisk Dam_ is a lady of the realm. The word means 'dame' in English."

"Oh, that's really sweet," Leslie exclaimed. "That should thrill the girls no end. Maybe Father had that in mind when he insisted there had to be a king and queen at this blowout."

"Perhaps so," said Christian. "The titles are only honorary, of course, since the girls aren't _jordiska_ citizens; but it's perfectly fine for the purposes of their fantasy, and they need never know it's not a true 'knighting', if you will. They look to be quite happy with the honors."

Leslie nodded, watching the little girls babbling excitedly at each other and bouncing on their feet, giggling madly. Todd and Jillian Egan had witnessed the little ceremony and stood nearby looking on; when Christian's great-great-grandparents turned to them, Todd bowed and Jillian curtsied, and the foursome had a short conversation. Leslie thought the senior Egans looked a little intimidated, but they gamely participated in the chat, and managed to refrain from looking relieved till King Carl and Queen Ingrid turned their attention elsewhere.

"How much longer is this supposed to go on?" Christian asked idly, watching his great-great-grandparents approach him and Leslie.

"I guess till the birthday girls have finally had enough for a day," Leslie said with a shrug, secretly relieved to see Roarke making his way back in their direction, still pausing frequently to speak with one guest or another. The king and queen came within earshot then, and she dipped a second, less formal curtsy to them. "Welcome, Your Majesties. What do you think of the party?"

"Your father presents quite the celebration," commented King Carl, scanning the crowd. "And it seems to be true, what Dorotea told me on occasion...he runs an elegant operation and makes many people very happy, does he not?"

"So he does," Leslie agreed, smiling broadly.

"Are you quite sure your father is not royalty himself, my dear?" Queen Ingrid inquired, her imperious tones now considerably softened, even friendly.

"Not as far as I know, Your Majesty," Leslie admitted with a sheepish little grin, "but then again, there's still a lot I don't know about him. So I guess you can never tell."

"Dorotea?" Christian put in then, addressing the king. "As in your sister, Princess Dorotea?"

"The very same, my boy," King Carl said with a nod. "I recall that she grew quite fond of this island and made several trips here—at least four by my count. Which, mind you, is remarkable, since it was necessary to travel by ship to the opposite side of the world. She and her family would stay a year at a time, due to the trouble it took to get here, and in fact I do believe the voyages lasted longer than their residences here. But they thought it was worth all the effort, and from what little Mr. Roarke has shown us, I understand why, now." He studied Christian. "It appears this place seduced you as well."

Christian favored him with a slow, faintly sly half-smile. "Not so much the place as one of its denizens." He flicked a glance in Leslie's direction, and the king barked out a delighted laugh. "But I certainly can't complain about life here. The people are welcoming, Mr. Roarke has accepted me as part of his family—such as it is—and I even have actual friends, for the first time since childhood."

King Carl chuckled again. "Paradise in more ways than one. Now, my boy, the last memory I have of your father, my great-grandson, is as a very imperial five-year-old. He knew his destiny very early in life. You say you're the youngest of his children. Tell me about your siblings."

That kept Christian busy for a good while, updating his great-great-grandparents with information about his brothers and sister and their families, and trying to gloss over his first two unhappy and unwanted marriages when King Carl persisted. But Queen Ingrid stepped in, asking for more details, and Christian reluctantly explained, with a good bit of help from Leslie—who decided that, since they had asked, and since they clearly wanted to know why Ulf had pushed Christian into those arranged marriages, she would tell them the full story.

By the time she finished, King Carl and Queen Ingrid both looked stunned and a bit guilty. "We never dreamed amakarna would have such an effect on the family," Ingrid murmured.

"Our son, Erik, had an older brother," Carl explained to Christian. "Our little Hans was born the day after the new year of 1869 had begun, but he was sickly almost from birth, and he was a mere five months old when he died. At the time we were already awaiting Erik, but we didn't know that yet, and we were devastated by Hans' death. I had heard about the spice from some of the members of our summer court, who usually spent winters in the Mediterranean countries. They are the ones who brought it to our attention. I know Erik put Lukas on the spice when he was born, and Lukas in turn gave it to Arnulf, though I recall he was more cautious—said something about how we should have asked for more information on the spice before administering it. But he was talked into it."

Christian growled softly, very low in his throat, barely audible. "Perhaps it was just the times—people weren't as well informed as now; there wasn't the same access to abundant information. At any rate, Father put Arnulf, my oldest brother, on the spice when he was born. Father thought that only Arnulf should have the spice; he didn't deign to give it to Carl Johan, Anna-Laura or me, and ever since learning what I have about amakarna, I've been deeply thankful I was spared that dubious honor. But when Arnulf's daughters were born, he put all three of them on it. I worry they'll die young."

"May that not be the case, my dear grandchild," Queen Ingrid said gently, laying a hand on Christian's shoulder, "but should that unfortunate event come to pass, I will admit that I should enjoy meeting my great-great-great-granddaughters." She paused, then shook her head once or twice and said through a little sigh, "So many generations. I have no doubt that Magnus Ormssvärd would be proud."

"I think so as well," agreed Christian, chuckling.

Just then Roarke joined them, and Leslie looked at him in pure surprise. "I saw you coming over here ages ago. What took you so long?"

Roarke laughed. "I could see that you good people were all deeply engaged in conversation, and I thought it rude to interrupt." He winked at her while the others laughed. "For now, however, I came here to explain that the Egan girls have expended the last of their energy, and Mr. and Mrs. Egan are ready to take them home for a night's rest. The party itself will last another hour or so, but it's at individual discretion as to when anyone wishes to leave."

Leslie nodded. "How about, uh, Princess Nia?"

"She appears to have a bit more stamina," Roarke commented, amused. "She is certainly enjoying herself, but by the time the party reaches its official end, her fantasy will also be close to its ending point. I'm sure she would never wish to have it come to an ignominious conclusion in front of a roomful of royalty, so I will see to it that the party is over by that time."

"Good thinking," Leslie agreed with a grin. "Okay, then, so is there anything you need me to do?"

"No, you and Christian are perfectly fine where you are. Your Majesties, I do hope you have been enjoying yourselves." Roarke smiled again when King Carl and Queen Ingrid both nodded. "I am delighted."

"The banquet was especially delicious," said Queen Ingrid with approval. "It was so well presented, and every dish was delectable. I can't remember another such excellent meal."

"I'll pass on your compliments, Your Majesty," said Leslie. "One of my friends runs the catering service along with her mother, and they'll be overjoyed to hear your words."

"This entire event has been remarkable, Mr. Roarke," King Carl said. "I must admit, I had my doubts when you arrived and asked us to attend, but now I'm quite glad we agreed to come. Especially now that I've met my great-great-grandson here. He turned out to be one of those legendary handsome princes the fairytales like to talk about, I notice."

"Ach," muttered Christian, and his great-great-grandparents both laughed. He allowed a small, sheepish grin. "You can thank my mother for that. Father married a commoner by the name of Susanna Helgesson just before World War II broke out, and whatever good looks there are in this family now, they can be attributed to her."

"I see," said King Carl, then stilled and thought for a few seconds before squinting at Christian. "World War _Two?"_

Leslie grinned at her surprised husband. "Time for a history lesson, I think, my love." Christian shot her a look that made everyone burst into laughter, and he joined in, taking her hand, before launching into an explanation for his royal ancestor.

 **§ § § - July 15, 2002**

"So I hope you enjoyed your birthday party, ladies," Roarke said when Todd and Jillian Egan and the three six-year-olds stepped out of the rover on Monday morning.

"It was the bestest time we ever had in our whole lives!" sang out Ramona. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke, we're never, ever, _ever_ gonna forget this!"

"That's right," Delaney chimed in. "Even if it wasn't my birthday, it felt like it, 'cause I still got to be my favorite Disney princess. And it sure was fun beating all the boys."

The adults laughed as Renata added with a shy smile, "I had the most wonderful, beautiful time ever. I got to go to _two_ royal balls, too."

"So you did," Roarke agreed, winking at her.

Renata peered up at Leslie. "Mrs. Enstad, how come you were crying when you and Mr. Roarke came to see me the other day in my fantasy?"

"Crying?" Jillian Egan repeated.

Leslie shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It's nothing really important. It's only that...well, I once had two sisters—twins, like Ramona and Renata, except Kristy and Kelly were identical. Some of your daughters' mannerisms remind me of my sisters."

"Oh, my goodness," Jillian said, her face turning sympathetic. "I hope the memories weren't too painful, Mrs. Enstad."

"Not too much," Leslie assured her. "Don't worry. Just have a safe and happy trip home."

"It'll be happy all right," Todd remarked with wry amusement. "Ten to one, the girls will spend the entire trip telling us over and over again about their adventures as princesses." Everyone laughed again, and hands got shaken all around before the Egans trooped off toward the plane dock.

The second rover was packed like a clown car; Roarke and Leslie glanced merrily at each other as Garrett kids spilled out of the vehicle in a babbling, jittering tidal wave, all trying to talk over each other at the tops of their lungs. Erica Garrett shot Roarke and Leslie an apologetic look; her husband dug a whistle out of his shirt pocket and raised it to his mouth. Seeing the movement, Roarke and Leslie both covered their ears as Ross Garrett blew an atmosphere-shattering blast that even stopped the plane-dock band in the middle of their song.

"Holy paradise," Leslie uttered, startled.

"Sorry, but it's the only way to quiet these monsters down," Ross said with a sheepish grin. "Anyway, Erica and I just wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed this weekend, and the kids too—but we were curious. How come you never let on that Nia had a fantasy?"

"Nia had her own reasons for keeping her fantasy a secret," said Roarke. He regarded Nia, who was smiling and seemed to have a new confidence in her eyes, and then surveyed her five siblings. "The quiet ones are all too often overlooked, but they too have something to say."

"So when they do say it, you better listen," added Leslie with a teasing grin.

Ross and Erica glanced at each other; Nia's brothers and sisters peered over their shoulders at her, then nodded thoughtfully. "You know, Mrs. Enstad, I think from now on, there'll be no way we can ever overlook Nia again," Erica said.

"And if you forget, I'll remind you," spoke up Nia. Her parents laughed; one by one, Roarke and Leslie shook hands with each family member and sent them off to the plane dock. Nia lingered till last, then stepped up to Leslie and stretched up on her toes to give the surprised young woman a kiss on the cheek. "Could you please tell Prince Christian I had lots of fun with the Royal Compartment class?" she asked.

Leslie gulped back a laugh at the misnomer and nodded. "I'll pass on the word, I promise. Have a good trip home, Nia."

"Thanks. Bye, Mr. Roarke, and thanks for letting me be a princess for a night," Nia said, beaming at him, taking in his wink and grin, and running off to the plane dock after her family. Roarke met Leslie's gaze, and that was all it took for both of them to start laughing.

 **§ § § - June 2, 2012**

Christian laughed as well. "Royal _Compartment_ , hm? I had forgotten you told me she said that. Yes, that was quite the weekend. And very well, Mr. Roarke, I freely admit it: I did enjoy that silly royal birthday ball. My only regret was that I was so busy educating my great-great-grandfather about World War II, I never did get around to asking him anything about Grandfather Lukas."

"Well, you got a memory of him refreshed a few years ago, when Stasia was a baby, if you recall," Leslie reminded him. "Maybe in the end, that was better than getting a few secondhand stories about him."

"Perhaps, but it would have been nice to have had both," Christian said good-naturedly. "That's all right. Well, you three, that will have to end the stories for the day. It's nearly time for your party to begin, and I'm sure your friends will start arriving any moment now."

"Thank you for telling us those stories, Grandfather and Mother," Karina said, hugging each in turn. "And it was fun getting to hear about Daddy being in a fantasy too. This is the best birthday ever. First stories with you and Grandfather, and then a birthday party with our friends and lots of presents."

"You're very welcome, sweetheart," Roarke told her, returning her hug.

From inside they heard the doorbell ring, and Anastasia leaped to life. "I go get it!" she yelled and dodged into the house, pelting for the door. The triplets stared after her; her parents and grandfather broke into laughter.

"She can be the official greeter," Susanna decided. "That'll give her something to do."

"I bet she'll want to help us unwrap our presents. She did last year," Tobias noted.

"We'll handle that," Christian assured him. "I suggest you go on inside and see who's here, and thank them for coming to your party."

Susanna and Tobias ran inside; Karina hesitated and turned to Leslie. "Will you tell us more about Aunt Kristy and Aunt Kelly tonight, after our party's over?" she pleaded.

Touched by her little girl's genuine interest, Leslie nodded and hugged her. "Thanks for asking, honey. I sure will. For now..." She straightened up and grinned. "Time for you to start your party."

"I'll be there to listen as well, my Rose," Christian told her, kissing her cheek.

"And I as well," Roarke put in, surprising her. "You never spoke much of Kristy and Kelly, even to me or Tattoo, and I find myself curious. I'll look forward to this." Leslie had to laugh, and admitted to herself that, after all was said and done, so was she.

 _ **Credits:**_

 _First story: adaptation of season 2 episode "Amusement Park / Rock Stars", original airdate May 13, 1979 … Cast: Scott Baio as Rob Collins; Jimmy Baio as Willie Collins; Jill Whelan as Jodie Collins; Keith Mitchell as Scooter Collins; Joanna Barnes as Ms. Ridges; Bernard Fox [1927 – 2016] as Brian Lipscomb; Jarrod Johnson as Derrus Scott; Tracey Gold as Monica; Vernée Watson as Aunt Andrea; Ted Lange as The Great Scott; Rayford Barnes [1920 – 2000] as the first workman; William Boyett [1927 – 2004] as Hank, the second workman; and Bob Kaimi Cummings [died 2016] as the carnival worker. The boy who played Derrus and Monica's friend Kevin was not credited._

 _Second story: an original tale I call "Magic Carpet Ride / Born Famous". With many thanks to KathyG for the idea that became "Magic Carpet Ride". Alison Byers' surname is a tribute and thanks to jtbwriter, for all the wonderful reviews over the years!_

 _Third story: adaptation of season 7 episode "Random Choices / My Mommy, the Swinger", original airdate December 3, 1983 … Cast: José Ferrer [1912 – 1992] as Nikolos Karabatsos; Florence Henderson [1934 – 2016] as Elaine Ashley; Bridgette Andersen [1975 – 1997] as Jane Ashley; David Faustino as Michael Ashley; Robert Goulet [1933 – 2007] as Martin Avery; James Read as Edward Random; Katherine "Kitty" Moffat as Angie Gordon; Ted Gehring [1929 – 2000] as Captain Gordon; Peter Schrum [1934 – 2003] as Hancock; and Anna Bjorn as Connie, the girl at the pool_

 _Fourth story: adaptation of season 7 episode "The Fantasy Island Girl / Saturday's Child", original airdate December 10, 1983 … Cast: Paul Burke [1926 – 2009] as Nick Gleason; Pat Crowley as the ex-Mrs. Gleason; Gina Gallego as Linda, Nick's assistant; Audrey Landers as Tina Evans; Linda Stelling as Angelica Baker; Christie Claridge as Norma Adams; Stella Stevens as Marion Sommers; Diane Baker as Fran Woods; Amy Linker as Ellie Woods; and David Kaufman as Bill Woods_

 _Fifth story: an original tale I call "My Name is Not Grace / Disney Girls". Again, with many thanks to KathyG for the idea that became "Disney Girls"._


End file.
